ibl,  stx 


F127A2H64   J|;V 


Letters  from  the  backwoods  and  the 


PLEASE  HANDLE 
WITH  CARE 

University  of 
Connecticut  Libraries 


•^f^^«^^ 


Jfeoavafiabte 
«•  archive^rg 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2011  witii  funding  from 

Boston  Library  Consortium  IVIember  Libraries 


Iittp://www.arcliive.org/details/lettersfrombackw1850liead 


o 


LETTERS 


THE    BACKA¥OODS 


ADISONDAC. 

BY 

THE   REV.    J.    T.    HEADLEY 


XEW     YORK: 

JOHN     S.     TAYLOR, 

143    NASSAU    STREET, 
1850. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

JOHN  S.  TAYLOR, 

in  the  Clerk-s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 

of  New  York. 


CONTENTS 


LETTEE  I. 

MOUNT  TAHAWUS, 13 

LETTER  11. 

LOG  DRIVING,  .  .  .  .  ...      21 

LETTER  III. 

ASCENT   OF   MOUNT  TAHAWUS— DIFFICULTIES  OF 
THE  WAY— GLOUIOUS  PROSPECT  FROM  THE  TOP,       31 

LETTER  IV. 

DESCENT  FROM  MOUNT  TAHAWUS,     .  .  .45 

LETTER  Y. 

THE  INDIAN  PASS,  .  .  .  .  .53 

LETTER  YI. 

LONG  LAKE, 65 

LETTER  YIL 

TROUT  FISHING— MITCHELL,      .  .  .  .75 


IV  CONTENTS. 


LETTER  VIII. 

TROUTING— A  DUCK  PROTECTING  HER  YOUNG  BY 
STRATAGEM— SABBATH  IN  THE  FOREST,  .         85 

LETTER  IX. 

LONG  LAKE  COLONY— A  LOON— CROTCHET  LAKE,  .   95 

LETTER  X. 

SHOOTING  A  DEER— SUPPER  IN  THE  WOODS— MO- 
DERN SENTIMENTALISTS  — THE  INFLUENCE  OF 
NATURE,     .  .  .  .  .  .  .103 

LETTER  XL 

FLOATING  DEER— A  NIGHT  EXCURSION— MORNING 

IN  THE  WOODS, 113 

LETTER  XIL 

LOST  IN  THE  WOODS— AN  OLD  INDIAN  AND  HIS 
DAUGHTER  —  MITCHELL  —  ADIRONDAC  IRON 
WORKS, 123 

LETTER  XIII. 

THE  FIRE  ISLANDS,  .  .  .  .  .133 

LETTER  XIY. 

THE  FIRE  ISLANDS, 141 

LETTER  XY. 

THE  FIRE  ISLANDS,  .  .  .  .  .151 


LETTERS 


THE    BACKWOODS 


LETTER   I. 


MOUNT  TAHAWUS, 


-,  June  18. 


I  CAisr  scarcely  believe,  as  I  stand  this  evening 
and  look  around  on  the  forest  that  girdles  me  in, 
and  hear  naught  but  the  dash  of  the  waterfall  at 
the  base  of  yonder  gloomy  mountain,  or  the  rapid 
song  of  the  whippowil  as  it  rings  like  the  notes 
of  a  fife  through  the  clear  air,  that  I  stood  a  few 
days  ago  in  Broadway,  and  heard  only  the  surge 
of  human  life  as  it  swept  fiercely  by.  The 
change  could  not  be  greater  if  I  had  been  trans- 
2 


14  LETTERS  FEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

ferred  to  another  planet.  The  paved  street 
changed  for  the  mountain  slope — the  rattle  of 
omnibuses  and  carriages  for  the  rush  of  streams 
and  music  of  wind  amid  the  tree  tops — the  voices 
of  the  passing  multitude  for  the  song  of  birds 
and  chirp  of  the  squirrel.  It  seems  but  a  day 
since  I  stood  where  the  living  current  rolls 
strongest,  and  felt  perfectly  at  home  amid  the 
walled  houses  and  packed  city;  yet  now  as  the 
trees  shake  their  green  awning  over  my  head, 
and  the  great  luminous  stars  sparkle  in  the  in- 
tensely clear  sky  that  seems  to  rest  its  bright 
arch  almost  on  the  tops  of  the  tall  hemlocks, 
New  York  appears  like  a  past  dream.  Oh,  how 
quiet  nature  is !  In  New  York,  everything  is  in 
a  hurry.  There  is  not  a  man  there  that  walks 
the  streets  who  seems  to  be  at  leisure.  Even  the 
horses  catch  the  hurrying  spirit;  and  everything 
goes  tearing  along  as  if  the  minutes  were  crowded 
with  great  events.  But  look!  See  how  lazily 
that  tree  swings  its  green  top  in  the  wind — how 
quietly  the  brook  goes  talking  to  itself  through 
the  forest — and  how  leisurely  the  very  clouds 
swing  themselves  over  the  evening  heavens !    Just 


MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  15 

Stand  here  a  moment  on  the  edge  of  this  clearing, 
and  listen  to  the  sounds  that  rise  on  the  evening 
air.  The  drowsy  tinkle  of  the  cow-bell  sinks  like 
long-forgotten  music  on  the  heart,  while  the 
scream  of  the  night-hawk  far  up  in  the  heavens 
seems  like  a  voice  from  the  spirit  world.  Its 
dusky  form  glances  now  and  then  on  the  eye, 
and  then  is  lost  in  the  far  upper  regions,  while 
his  cry  pierces  clear  and  shrill  through  the  gloom, 
telling  where  his  pinion  still  floats  him  onward. 
The  smoke  of  the  clearing  wreaths  in  slow  and 
spiral  columns  skyward;  while  the  whistle  of  the 
woodman,  as  he  shoulders  his  axe  and  wends  his 
weary  way  to  his  log  hut,  is  the  only  human 
sound  that  disturbs  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene. 
And  now  the  twilight  deepens  over  all.  The  fire 
of  the  distant  fallow  flashes  up  in  the  darkness, 
and  the  cry  of  the  boding  owl  comes  like  a  voice 
of  warning  on  the  ear.  How,  under  the  influ- 
ences of  such  a  scene,  the  heart  throws  off  link 
after  link  of  its  bondage,  and  the  soul  loses  its 
sternness  and  fierce  excitement,  and  becomes 
subdued  as  a  child's!  The  man  sinks  before 
the    early  dreamer,  and  dear  associations    come 


16  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

thronging  "back  on  the  staggering  memory  like 
sad  angels,  and  tlie  spirit  reaches  forth  its  arms 
after  the  good  and  the  true.  At  least  it  is  so 
with  me ;  and  the  presence  of  nature  changes  me 
so  that  I  scarcely  know  myself.  A  new  class  of 
feelings  and  emotions  is  awakened  within  me — 
new  hopes  and  iiew  resolutions  spring  to  birth. 
I  think  more  of  that  unseen  world  towards  which 
I  am  so  rapidly  borne,  and  of  the  mysteries  of 
the  life  that  surrounds  me.  In  New  York,  life  is 
all  practical  and  outward.  Actio7i,  action,  action 
is  the  constant  cry,  and  action  it  is  till  thought 
gets  frightened  away. 

Ice-cream  saloons — crowds  on  crowds  of  prome- 
naders — the  rattle  of  wheels — the  ringing  of  the 
fire  bells,  and  one  continuous  roar  rising  like  the 
sea  over  all,  are  the  contrasts  your  city  now  pre- 
sents to  the  scene  I  have  been  describing.  The 
night  closes  over  haunts  of  vice,  dens  of  infamy, 
the  gambling  house,  and  the  drunken  revel.  Be- 
hold how  peacefully  it  here  shuts  down  over  the 
forest,  where  the  wild  bird  has  gone  to  sleep  be- 
side its  mate,  and  not  a  restless  unholy  spirit  is 
abroad ! 


MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  17 

And  then  the  morning — how  different !  The 
morning  in  New  York  is  always  associated  in  my 
mind  with  markets.  Soon  as  the  sun  mounts  the 
dusty  heavens,  New  York  seems  to  open  its  mouth 
and  rush  for  the  markets.  But  here  by  the  forest, 
as  the  unclouded  sun  wheels  with  a  lordly  majestic 
motion  above  the  mountain,  ten  thousand  birds 
seem  to  have  awakened  at  once.  I  would  you 
could  listen  a  moment.  It  is  a  perfect  storm  of 
sound.  From  ihe  soft  warble  of  the  robin  to  the 
shrill  scream  of  the  woodpecker,  there  is  every 
variety  of  note,  and  yet  all  in  accord.  I  said 
nature  was  quiet,  and  every  moving  thing  at  lei- 
sure ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  These  birds  seem  to 
be  in  a  hurry,  as  if  they  had  not  time  to  utter 
all  their  music ;  and  they  pour  it  forth  in  such 
rapid,  thrilling  strains,  that  the  ear  is  perfectly 
confused. 

Ah!  there  are  other  times  when  nature  is  not 
tranquil ;  for  now,  while  I  am  writing,  a  dark 
shadow  has  fallen  on  my  paper,  and  as  I  look  up 
I  see  the  sun  has  left  the  blue  sky,  and  buried  his 
burning  forehead  in  a  black  thunder  cloud  that  is 
heaving,  gloomy  as  midnight,  over  the  mountain. 

9* 


18  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS, 

The  lightning  searches  its  bosom,  as  with  an  as- 
sassin's knife,  and  the  deep  low  growl  that  follows 
is  like  the  slow  waking  up  of  wrath.  The  distant 
tree  tops  rock  two  and  fro  in  the  gathering  blast, 
and  a  hush  like  death  is  on  everything.  Still  I 
love  it.  I  love  the  strong  movement  of  those  black 
masses.  They  seem  conscious  of  power  and  of 
the  terror  of  their  frown,  as  it  darkens  on  the 
crouching  earth.  It  is  black  as  midnight;  but 
I  know  before  long  the  surrbeams  will  burst  forth 
like  the  smile  of  God,  the  birds  break  out  in  sud- 
den thanksgiving,  and  the  blue  sky  kiss  the  green 
mountain  in  delight. 

Thus  does  nature  change — yet  is  ever  beautiful 
in  her  changes.  I  did  not  design,  when  I  com- 
menced this  letter,  to  fill  it  up  with  such  a  diary  of 
my  feelings ;  but  the  truth  is,  when  I  first  get  into 
the  country,  at  least  into  the  backwoods,  I  wish 
to  do  nothing  for  the  first  two  or  three  days  but 
lie  down  on  the  hillside,  and  look  at  the  trees  and 
sky,  and  think  of  the  strange  contrast  between 
the  life  I  have  just  left  and  the  one  that  sur- 
rounds me.  It  takes  some  time  to  adjust  myself 
to  it — quite  a  preparation — before  I  can  enter  on 


MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  19 

that  active  life  of  fishing,  tramping,  and  camping 
out  in  the  woods,  which  my  health  demands ;  and 
it  is  but  natural  you  should  have  my  transition 
state.  At  least,  it  is  natural  I  should  write  out 
that  which  is  uppermost  in  me. 

I  expect  soon  to  start  for  the  Adirondac  Mount- 
ains, at  whose  broken  terminations  I  now  rest.  I 
have  some  things  to  say  about  Long  Lake  and 
Mr.  Todd's  colony  there,  which  will  put  your 
readers  right  respecting  it.  You  know,  two  years 
ago,  that  Mr.  Todd  took  me  up  rather  sharply  in 
your  paper  on  account  of  some  statements  I  made 
respecting  that  country.  I  made  no  reply  then; 
but  I  will  now  show  that  I  was  not  only  right  in 
every  particular,  but  that  every  prediction  I  then 
made  of  the  fate  of  the  colony  has  already  proved 
true. 


LOG  DRIVINa.  21 


LETTER    II. 


LOa   DEIVINa. 


Backwoods,  July  Qt7i. 
Did  you  ever  witness  a  log  driving?  It  is  one 
of  the  curiosities  of  the  backwoods,  where  streams 
are  made  to  subserve  the  purpose  of  teams.  On 
the  steep  mountain  side,  and  along  the  shores  of 
the  brook  which  in  spring  time  becomes  a  swollen 
torrent,  tearing  madly  through  the  forest,  the 
tall  pines  and  hemlocks  are  felled  in  winter  and 
dragged  or  rolled  to  the  brink  of  the  streams. 
Here  every  man  marks  his  own,  as  he  would  his 
sheep,  and  then  rolls  them  in,  when  the  current 
is  swollen  by  the  rains.  The  melted  snow  along 
the  acclivities  comes  in  a  perfect  sheet  of  water 
down,  and  the  streams  rise  as  if  by  magic  to  the 
tops  of  their  banks,  and  a  broad,  resistless  current 


22      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

goes  sweeping  like  a  live  and  gloomy  thing  through 
the  deep  forest.  The  foam-bubbles  sparkle  on  the 
dark  bosom  that  floats  them  on,  and  past  the 
boughs  that  bend  with  the  stream,  and  by  the 
precipices  that  frown  sternly  down  on  the  tumult. 
The  rapid  waters  shoot  onward  like  an  arrow,  or 
rather  a  visible  spirit  on  some  mysterious  errand, 
seeking  the  loneliest  and  most  fearful  passages 
the  untrodden  wild  can  furnish.  I  have  seen  the 
waves  running  like  mad  creatures  in  mid  ocean, 
and  watched  with  strange  feelings  the  moonlit 
deep  as  it  gently  rose  and  fell  like  a  human  bosom 
in  the  still  night;  but  there  is  something  more 
mysterious  and  fearful  than  these  in  the  calm  yet 
lightning-like  speed  of  a  deep,  dark  river,  rushing 
all  alone  in  its  might  and  majesty  through  the 
heart  of  an  unbroken  forest.  You  cannot  see  it 
till  you  stand  on  the  brink,  and  then  it  seems  so 
utterly  regardless  of  you  or  the  whole  world  with- 
out, hasting  sternly  on  to  the  accomplishment  of 
some  dread  purpose ! 

But  such  romance  as  this  never  enters  the  head 
of  your  backwoodsman.  The  first  question  he 
puts  himself,  as  he  thrusts  his  head  through  the 


LOa  DRIVING.  .      23 

branches  and  looks  np  and  down  the  current,  is 
— *'Is  the  stream  high  enough  to  run  logs?"  If 
it  is,  then  fall  to  work :  away  go  the  logs,  one  after 
another,  down  the  bank,  and  down  the  mountain, 
with  a  bound  and  a  groan,  splash  into  the  water. 
The  heavy  rains  about  the  first  of  July  had  so 
swollen  the  streatn  near  which  I  am  located,  that 
all  thoughts  of  fishing  for  several  days  were  aban- 
doned, and  the  log  drivers  had  it  all  to  themselves. 
So,  strolling  through  the  forest,  I  soon  heard  the 
continuous  roar  that  rose  up  through  the  leafy 
solitudes,  and  in  a  few  moments  stood  on  a  shelv- 
ing rock,  and  saw  the  lark-swift  stream  before  me 
as  it  issued  from  the  cavernous  green  foliage  above, 
and  disappeared  without  a  struggle  in  the  same 
green  abyss  below.  I  stood  for  a  long  time  lost 
in  thought.  How  much  like  life  was  that  current 
in  its  breathless  haste — how  like  it,  too,  in  its 
mysterious  appearance  and  departure  !  It  shot 
on  my  sight  without  a  token  of  its  birth-place,  and 
vanished  without  leaving  a  sign  whither  it  had 
gone.  So  comes  and  goes  this  mysterious  life  of 
ours — this  fearful  time-stream,  sweeping  so  noise- 
lessly and  steadily  on.     And  there  where  that 


24      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

bubble  dances  and  swims,  now  floating,  calmly 
tliougb  swiftly,  along  the  surface,  and  now  caught 
in  an  eddy,  and  whirled  in  endless  gyrations 
round,  and  now  buffeted  back  by  the  hard  rock 
against  whose  side  it  was  cast,  is  another  life 
symbol.  Such  am  I  and  such  is  every  man — 
bubbles  on  the  dread  time-stream ;  now  moving 
calmly  over  the  waters  of  prosperity — now  caught 
in  the  eddies  of  misfortune,  till,  bewildered  and 
stunned,  we  are  hurled  against  the  rocks  of-  dis- 
couragement; yet,  ever  afloat,  and  ever  borne 
rapidly  on,  we  are  moving  from  sight  to  be  swal- 
lowed up  in  that  vast  solitude  from  whose  echoless 
depths  no  voice  has  ever  yet  returned.  Life,  life ! 
how  solemn  and  mysterious  thou  art !  I  could 
weep  as  I  lean  from  this  rock  and  gaze  on  the 
dark  rushing  waters.  Thought  crowds  on  thought, 
and  sad  memories  come  sweeping  up,  and  future 
forebodings  mingle  in  the  solemn  gathering,  and 
emotions  no  one  has  ever  yet  expressed,  and  feel- 
ings that  have  struggled  since  time  began  for  ut- 
terance, swell  like  that  swollen  water  over  my 
heart,  and  make  me  inconceivably  sad  here  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 


LOG  DRIVING.  25 

How  long  I  miglit  have  stood  absorbed  in  this 
half-dreamy,  half- thoughtful  mood,  I  know  not, 
had  I  not  heard  a  shout  below  me.  Passing  down, 
I  soon  came  to  a  steep  bank,  at  the  base  of  which 
several  men  were  tumbling  logs  into  the  stream. 
I  watched  them  for  some  time,  and  was  struck 
with  the  coolness  with  which  one  would  stand  half 
under  a  perfect  embankment  of  logs,  and  hew 
away  to  loosen  the  whole,  while  another  with  a 
handspike  kept  them  back.  Once,  after  a  blow, 
I  saw  the  whole  mass  start,  when  ''  Take  care ! 
take  care!"  burst  in  such  startling  tones  from  my 
lips,  that  the  cool  chopper  sprung  as  if  stung  by 
an  adder ;  then,  with  a  laugh  at  his  own  foolish 
fright,  stepped  back  to  his  place  again.  The  man 
with  the  handspike  never  even  turned  his  head, 
but  with  a  half  grunt,  as  much  as  to  say  ''.Green 
horn  from  the  city,"  held  on.  It  was  a  really 
exciting  scene — the  mad  leaping  away  of  those 
huge  logs,  and  their  rapid,  arrowy-like  movement 
down  the  stream.  At  length  I  off  with  my  coat, 
and,  laying  my  gun  aside,  seized  a  handspike,  and 
was  soon  behind  a  huge  log,  tugging  and  lifting 
away.  I  was  on  the  top  of  a  high  bank,  and 
3 


26      LETTEES  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

when  tlie  immense  timber  gave  wav,  and  bounded 
with  a  drdl  sound  from  rock  to  rock,  till  it  struck 
with  a  splash  into  the  very  centre  of  the  current, 
my  sudden  shout  followed  it.  As  that  log  struck 
the  water,  it  buried  itself  out  of  sight,  and  then, 
as  it  rose  to  the  surface  for  a  single  moment,  it 
stood  perfectly  still  in  its  place  except  that  it  rolled 
rapidly  on  its  axis — the  next  moment  it  yielded  to 
the  impetuosity  of  the  current,  and  darted  away 
as  if  inherent  with  life,  and  moved  straight  to- 
wards a  precipice  that  frowned  over  the  water  be- 
low. Eecoiling  from  the  shock,  its  head  swung 
off  with  the  stream,  and  away  it  shot  out  of  sight. 
The  stream  gets  full  of  these  logs,  which  often 
catch  on  some  rock  or  projecting  root,  and  accu- 
mulate till  a  hundred  or  more  will  be  all  tangled 
and  matted  together.  There  they  lie,  rising  and 
falling  on  the  uneasy  current,  while  a  driver 
slowly  and  carefully  steps  from  one  to  another, 
feeling  with  his  feet  and  handspike  to  see  where 
the  drag  is.  When  he  finds  it,  he  loosens  it,  per- 
haps with  a  single  blow,  and  away  the  whole  roll- 
ing tumbling  mass  moves.  Xow  look  out,  bold 
driver;  thy  footing  is  not  of  the  most  certain  kind, 


LOG  DRIVING.  27 

and  a  wild  and  angry  stream  is  beneath  thee.  Yet 
see  how  calmly  he  views  the  chaos !  The  least 
hurry  or  alarm,  and  he  is  lost.  But  no  ;  he  moves 
without  agitation  ;  now  balancing  himself  a  mo- 
ment as  the  log  he  steps  upon  shoots  downward, 
now  quickly  passing  to  another  as  it  rolls  under 
him,  he  is  gradually  working  his  way  towards  the 
shore.  He  has  almost  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
bank,  when  the  whole  floating  mass  separates  so  far 
that  he  can  no  longer  step  from  one  to  another, 
and,  after  looking  about  a  moment,  he  quietly  seats 
himself  astraddle  of  one  and  darts  like  a  fierce 
rider  down  the  current.  These  logs  are  carried 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  in  this  way,  passing  from 
small  streams  to  larger  ones,  through  lakes  and 
along  rivers,  and  are  finally  brought  up  at  the 
wished-for  point  by  stringing  poles  across  the 
river,  which  stops  their  further  descent.  Several 
different  men  have  clubbed  together  to  drive  the 
stream,  and  here  they  pick  out  each  his  ovfn,  by 
the  mark  he  has  given  it,  just  as  you  have  seen 
farmers,  in  a  confused  flock  of  sheep,  select  their 
own,  saying  ever  and  anon,  ''This  is  mine,  cropped 


28  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

in  both  ears  and  slit  in  the  right,"  &c.  When 
the  logs  get  fastened  together  on  rocks,  &C.5  it  is 
called  a  "jam."  I  saw  one  of  these  the  other  day 
upon  a  huge  mass  of  rocks,  over  which  the  water 
never  flows  except  in  the  highest  freshet ;  and  I 
should  think  there  were  four  or  five  thousand  of 
them  there  thrown  into  all  shapes  and  attitudes — 
the  most  chaotic-looking  mass  you  ever  beheld. 

This  "driving  the  river,"  as  it  is  called,  is 
one  of  the  chief  employments  of  your  backwoods- 
man in  spring  time,  and  it  is  curious  to  see 
what  an  object  of  interest  the  river  becomes.  Its 
rise  and  fall  are  the  chief  topics  of  conversation. 
So  goes  the  world.  New  York  has  its  objects  of 
interest— the  country  village  its — and  the  settler 
on  the  frontier  his ;  each  filled  with  the  same 
anxieties,  hopes,  fears,  and  wishes — overcome  by 
the  same  discouragements  and  misfortunes,  and 
working  out  the  same  fate ; — man  still  with  that 
mysterious  soul  and  restless  heart  of  his,  greater 
than  a  king,  and  immortal  as  an  angel,  yet  ab- 
sorbed with  straws  and  maddened  or  thrown  into 
raptures  by  a  little  glittering  dust. 


LOG  DRIVING.  29 

Mj  next  will  be  from  tlie  heart  of  Hamilton 
county,  and  I  shall  have  something  to  say  of  Long 
Lake  colony. 


3* 


ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  31 


LETTER   III, 

ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  TAHAWUS — DIFFICULTIES  OF  THE 
WAY — GLORIOUS  PROSPECT  FROM  THE  TOP. 

I  HAD  finally  resolved  to  ascend  this  mountain, 
the  highest  in  the  Empire  State,  and  the  highest 
in  the  Union  with  the  exception  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington. The  hunter  Cheney  told  me  that  not  a 
human  foot  had  pressed  its  lordly  summit  for  six 
years,  and  that  it  would  require  three  days  to  as- 
cend it  and  return.  It  was  fifteen  miles  to  the 
top,  through  a  pathless  wilderness,  across  rivers 
and  amid  tangled  thickets,  and  over  swamps  that 
would  task  the  powers  of  the  strongest  man.  As 
he  looked  at  my  pale  visage  and  slender  frame, 
he  intimated  that  I  could  not  accomplish  the  as- 
cent. I  told  him  I  could,  and  what  was  more,  I 
could  do  it  all  in  a  day  and  a  half,  passing  only 
one  night  in  the  woods  instead  of  two.     He  said 


32  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

it  was  impossible ;  that  it  had  never  been  done 
but  once  in  that  time,  and  then  it  was  performed 
by  himself  and  another  man  from  necessity,  and 
that  he  did  not  get  over  it  for  a  week  after. 

Notwithstanding  these  discouragements,  our  lit- 
tle party  concluded  to  start ;  and  so,  on  Friday 
morning,  before  the  leaves  had  shaken  the  dew 
from  their  fingers,  we  stretched  off  in  Indian  file, 
Cheney  the  hunter  leading.  With  a  hatchet  in  his 
hand,  and  a  pack  filled  with  pork  and  venison  and 
bread  on  his  back,  he  appeared  a  fit  leader  for 
such  a  vagabond-looking  company  as  we  were. 

I^ext  came  B n,  carrying  a  tea-kettle  in  his 

hand,  while  I  followed  close  after,  with  a  long 
stick  in  my  hand  to  steady  me  in  leaping  chasms 
and  climbing  precipices,  and  a  green  Scotch 
blanket,  rolled  up  and  fastened  by  a  rope  around 
my  shoulders,  to  cover  me  with  at  night.  The 
rest  came  straggling  along,  each  with  something 
in  his  hand  necessary  for  our  dinner  or  night's 
lodging  in  the  woods.  After  moving  in  this  way 
about  six  miles,  we  came  to  some  burnt  logs  and 
a  rude  bier,  on  which  a  dead  man  had  lain  all 
night.     Mr.  Henderson,  a  wealthy  gentleman  of 


ASCENT  OP  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  33 

Jersey  City,  and  who  owned  a  portion  of  tlio  Adi- 
rondac  Iron  Works,  had  shot  himself  accidentally 
with  a  pistol  a  short  way  from  this  spot,  and  here 
he  had  been  brought,  to  wait  for  daylight  to  guide 
those  who  bore  him  through  the  woods.  His  little 
boy,  eleven  years  old,  was  with  him,  and  "There," 
said  the  hunter,  pointing  to  a  log,  "  I  sat  all  night, 
and  held  the  poor  fellow  in  my  arms,  until  at 
length  he  sobbed  himself  to  sleep."  A  little  far- 
ther on,  we  came  to  a  small  pond  beside  which 
stood  a  rock  where  the  accident  happened.  "  I 
stood  there,"  said  Cheney,  pointing  across  the 
pond,  "  with  the  little  boy  by  my  side,  and  was 
busy  in  preparing  a  raft  on  which  we  might  take 
some  trout  for  supper,  when  I  heard  a  shot.  I 
looked  across,  and  saw  Mr.  Hendersoa  flinging 
his  arms  rapidly  towards  heaven,  and  then  across 
his  breast,  exclaiming,  'I  am  shot!'  His  little 
son  fainted,  and  fell  at  my  feet.  As  soon  as  I 
could,  I  hurried  to  the  spot;  and  found  Mr.  Hen- 
derson sitting  on  the  ground,  supported  by  his 
friend,  and  going  fast."  He  committed  his  soul 
to  his  Maker,  told  his  son  to  be  a  good  boy  and 
give  his  love  to  his  mother,  and  in  a  fev/  minutes 


34  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS, 

more  passed  tlie  mystery  of  mysteries,  and  entered 
on  tlie  scenes  of  the  boundless  hereafter.  He  was 
a  man  of  noble  character  and  generous  disposition, 
and  loved  by  all  who  knew  him.  It  is  singular  to 
observe  how  often  men  fall  victims  to  that  T>^hich 
they  most  dread  and  most  guard  against.  Mr. 
Henderson  was  nervously  afraid  of  firearms;  so 
much  so  that  he  could  not  see  a  man  passing  along 
the  street  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  without 
going  out  to  inquire  if  it  was  loaded.  He  carried 
the  pistol  solely  as  a  means  of  defence  in  the 
woods,  and  in  laying  it  down  on  a  rock,  struck  the 
lock  while  the  muzzle  was  pointed  directly  towards 
him.  Poor  Cheney  stood  and  sighed  over  the 
spot,  and  shook  his  head  mournfully,  exclaiming, 
"  Oh,  he  was  a  noble  man  !"  It  was  affecting  to 
witness  such  deep  and  lasting  feeling  in  a  man 
who  had  spent  half  his  life  in  the  woods.  You 
can  well  imagine  that  it  was  with  silent  and 
thoughtful  steps,  and  some  sad  forebodings,  we 
again  entered  the  bosom  of  the  forest. 

But  I  will  not  enter  into  the  details  of  this 
tedious  tramp.  I  cannot  make  you  see  the  dark 
spruce  forest,  with  its  carpet  of  moss,  and  paths 


ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  35 

of  wild  deer  and  bears  trodden  hard  by  their  fre- 
quent pas^ge  from  the  mountains  to  the 
streams ;  nor  induce  you  to  follow  with  your  eye 
that  crooked  river  that  seems^  since  we  last 
crossed  it,  to  have  stolen  round  and  lain  in  am- 
bush in  our  path,  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
does  it  again  appear  before  us.  But,  after  wad- 
ing it  half  a  dozen  times,  just  stand  here  a 
moment  on  the  bank  of  a  new  stream,  and  look 
through  those  huge  hemlocks  into  tha^t  awful 
mountain  gorge.  That  lonely  sheet  of  water, 
sj)reading  there  so  dark  and  yet  so  still,  is  Lake 
Golden,  and  looks,  amid  those  savage  and  broken 
hills,  like  Innocence  sleeping  on  the  lap  of  Wrath. 
How  peaceful  and  how  lonely  it  seems  in  its  soli- 
tude!— and  it  shall  linger  in  the  memory  like 
some  half-sad,  half-pleasant  dream. 

From  this  we  struck  across  to  the  Opalescent 
River — so  called  from  the  opalescent  stones, 
some  of  which  are  very  beautiful,  that  are  found 
in  its  channel — ^and  followed  its  rocky  bed  five 
miles  into  the  mountains.  Now  wading  aoross, 
and  now  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  again 
striking  out  into  the  thick  forest,  to  get  around  a 


o6  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

deep  gulf  or  cataract,  we  pressed  on  till  one 
o'clock,  when  we  hallooed  each  other  together, 
and  began  to  prepare  for  dinner.  Some  old  and 
shivered  trees,  which  the  floods  of  spring  had 
brought  down  and  lodged  against  the  rocks, 
served  us  for  fuel.  Over  the  crackling  fire  we 
hung  our  tea-kettle,  which  we  filled  from  the 
limpid  stream  that  crept  in  rivulets  around  our 
feet,  and,  placing  some  large  slices  of  pork  on 
the  ends  of  sticks  which  we  held  in  the  blaze, 
soon  had  our  dinner  under  full  headway. 

Amid  the  laughter  and  freedom  inseparable 
from  a  life  in  the  woods,  we  whiled  away  an 
hour,  then  shouldered  again  our  knapsacks  and 
pressed  on.  The  sky,  which  was  clear  and  beau- 
tiful in  the  morning,  had  drawn  a  veil  over  its 
face,  and  the  clouds,  thickening  every  moment, 
gave  omen  of  a  stormy  night  and  gloomy  day  to 
come.  When  we  set  out,  we  expected  to  encamp 
at  the  base  of  the  main  peak  over  night,  and 
ascend  next  morning;  but  I  told  Cheney  we  must 
be  on  the  top  before  sunset,  for  in  the  morning 
impenetrable  clouds  might  rest  upon  it,  and  all 
our  labor  be  lost.     We  were  weary  enough  to 


DIFFICULTIES  OF  THE  WAY.  37 

halt,  and  a  more  forlorn-looking  company  you 
never  saw  than  we  were,  as  we  straggled  like  a 
flock  of  sheep  up  the  bed  of  the  stream.  At 
length  it  began  to  climb  the  mountain  in  cata- 
racts, and  we  after  it.  It  was  now  nearly  three 
o'clock,  and  we  had  been  walking  since  seven  in 
the  morning.  Wearied  and  completely  fagged 
out,  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  make  the 
ascent.  Up,  up,  at  an  angle  of  nearly  forty-five 
degrees — flogged  and  torn  at  every  step  by  the 
long,  thorn-like  branches  of  the  spruce  trees — 
leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  or  crawling  from  some 
cavity  into  which  we  had  fallen  through  the 
treacherous  moss,  we  panted  on,  striving  in  vain 
to  get  even  a  sight  of  the  summit  that  mocked 
our  hard  endeavors.  One  hunter  with  us  several 
times  gave  out  completely,  and  we  were  compelled 
to  stop  and  wait  for  him.  Crossing  now  a  bear- 
track,  and  now  coming  to  a  bed  where  a  moose 
had  rested  the  night  before,  we  at  length  saw  the 
naked  cone,  forming  the  extremest  summit  of  the 
mountain.  There  it  stood,  round,  gray,  cold, 
and  naked,  in  the  silent  heavens.  A  deep  gully 
lay  between  us  and  it,  filled  with  spruce  trees 
4 


38  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

about  three  feet  high,  and  growing  so  close 
together  as  to  form  a  perfect  matting.  Through 
these  it  was  almost  impossible  to  force  our  way, 
and  indeed,  in  one  instance,  I  walked  a  consider- 
able distance  on  the  tops,  without  touching- 
ground.  This  difficulty  being  surmounted,  next 
came  the  immense  cone  of  rock,  bending  its  awful 
arch  away  into  the  heavens,  seemingly  conscious 
of  its  majesty  and  grandeur.  Up  this  we  were 
compelled  to  go,  a  part  of  the  time,  on  all  fours; 
but  at  length,  at  four  o'clock,  we  stood  on  the 
bald  crown.  The  sun,  though  stooping  to  the 
western  horizon,  seemed  near  the  zenith,  and  not 
to  move  one  minute  of  a  degree  downward  on  its 
path.  But  how  shall  I  describe  the  prospect 
below  and  around  ?  I  have  stood  on  the  Alps, 
and  looked  off  on  a  sea  of  peaks,  and  remained 
awe-struck  amid  the  majesty  and  terror  around 
me — feeling  as  if  I  were  treading  on  the  margin  of 
Jehovah's  mantle.  But  the  bright  snow-cliffs  and 
flashing  glaciers  gave  life  and  animation  to  the 
scene,  while  here  all  was  green,  dark,  and  sombre. 
Those  are  not  peaks  around  us,  but  huge  mis- 
shapen masses,  pushing  their  gigantic  proportions 


GLORIOUS  PROSPECT  FROM  THE  TOP.     39 

heavenward — now  formed  of  black  rock  that 
undulates  along  the  summit  like  a  frozen  wave, 
and  now  covered  with  low  dark  fir  trees,  that 
seem  like  a  drapery  of  mourning  over  some  sleep- 
ing or  dead  monster.  All  around  is  wilder  than 
fancy  ever  painted  or  described.  Scarce  a  hand's 
breadth  of  cultivated  land  in  the  whole  motion- 
less panorama.  There,  far,  far  below,  stretching 
aw^ay  for  miles,  is  a  deep  dark  lane  through  the 
forest,  telling  where  a  swift  river  is  sweeping 
onward,  but  not  a  murmur  rises  up  to  this  still 
spot,  nor  a  flash  of  its  bright  waters  escapes  from 
the  sullen  woods  that  shut  it  in.  To  your  left  is 
Mount  Mclntyre,  black  as  night,  and  rising  from 
the  sea  of  forest  below  like  some  monument  of  a 
past  world.  There,  too,  is  Mount  Golden,  and 
further  on  White  Face,  with  the  immense  scar  on 
its  forehead ;  and  there,  and  there — but  it  is  vain 
even  to  count  the  summits  that  seem  to  have 
been  piled  here  in  some  awful  hurry  of  nature. 
As  you  thus  stand  with  your  face  to  the  south, 
the  whole  range  of  the  Green  Mountains,  from 
Canada  to  where  they  sink  into  Massachusetts 
stretches  in  one  grand  bold  pencil-stroke  along 


40  LETTERS  FKOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

the  sky.  Far  away  to  the  southeast,  a  storm  is 
raging,  and  the  clouds  lift  and  heave  along  the 
dark  bosom  of  the  mountain,  like  the  foldings  of 
a  vast  curtain  stirred  by  the  wind.  At  the  base, 
and  losing  itself  in  the  distance,  spreads  away 
Lake  Champlain,  with  all  its  green  islands  on  its 
bosom.  From  this  immense  height  and  distance, 
the  elevated  banks  disappear,  and  the  whole 
beautiful  sheet  appears  like  water  flowing  over  a 
flat  country.  Burlington  is  a  mere  toy-shop  in 
the  hazy  distance.  Turning  to  the  west  and 
southwest,  you  overlook  all  that  primeval  wilder- 
ness of  which  Long  Lake  is  the  centre ;  and  how 
grand  and  gloomy  is  the  scene — an  interminable 
forest,  now  descending  in  a  bold  sweep  to  the 
margin  of  some  lake,  and  now  climbing  and  over- 
stepping the  lordly  mountain  in  its  progress. 
Summit  overlaps  summit,  ridge  intersects  ridge, 
and  all  flowing  away  together,  in  one  wild  majes- 
tic sea,  towards  the  western  horizon.  The  only 
relief  to  this  solitude  is  the  lakes  that ,  dot  the 
bosom  of  the  forest  in  every  direction.  But 
there  is  one  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  which, 
either   from   its   overshadowed   position,    or   the 


GLORIOUS  PROSPECT  FROM  THE  TOP,     41 

natural  hue  of  its  water,  is  black  as  ink.  It 
looks  in  its  still  and  dark  aspect  like  the  pool  of 
death !  But  what  a  tremendous  gulf  surrounds 
you,  as  you  thus  stand  nearly  six  thousand  feet 
in  the  air,  on  this  isolated  dome  !  On  one  side, 
were  the  forest  comes  boldly  up  to  the  base,  an 
avalanche  of  earth  has  swept,  cutting  a  lane  for 
itself  through  the  strong  trees,  like  the  scythe 
of  the  mower  through  the  grass. 

But  just  take  one  more  sweep  of  the  eye  around 
the  horizon  before  those  clouds  which  come  dash- 
ing so  like  spirits  through  the  gulfs,  leaving  a 
night-cap  on  every  summit  in  their  progress,  shall 
obstruct  the  vision.  You  take  in  an  area  of  nearly 
four  hundred  miles  in  circumference  just  by  turn- 
ing on  your  heel.  Oh,  how  thought  crowds  on 
thought,  and  emotion  struggles  with  emotion,  as 
you  stand  and  gaze  on  this  scene  where  the  Al- 
mighty seems  to  have  wrought  with  his  sublimest 
power !  Cities  and  kingdoms — the  battling  of 
armies-^the  struggles  of  the  multitude,  and  the 
ambition  and  strifes  of  men,  sink  away  into  insig- 
nificance. The  troubles  of  life  seem  small,  and 
its  petty  anxieties  and  cares  are  all  forgotten. 
4* 


42      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

God  and  nature  seem  one,  and  sublimity  and  power 
their  only  attributes.  One  cannot  refrain  from 
asking  himself  unceasingly,  did  His  strong  arm 
heave  those  mountains  on  high  and  lay  their  deep 
foundations  ?  Did  His  hand  spread  this  limitless 
mantle  of  green  below,  sprinkle  all  these  lakes 
around,  and  fill  these  vast  solitudes  with  life  ? 
Subdued  and  solemn,  the  soul  whispers  the  reply 
to  its  own  inquiries,  and  involuntarily  renders 
homage  to  the  Infinite  One. 

But  all  scenes  must  end,  and  we  prepared  to 
depart.  As  I  came  to  the  brow  of  a  rock  and 
looked  off,  I  heard  a  shout  below,  and  there,  toil- 
ing painfully  up,  I  saw  a  friend,  a  young  clergy- 
man, who  had  promised  to  meet  me  at  Adirondac, 
but  did  not  arrive  till  after  we  left.  He  was  drip- 
ping with  perspiration;  and  I  took  my  green 
blanket,  and  folding  him  also  in  it,  walked  back 
over  the  summit,  to  give  him  the  view  I  had  been 
gazing  on  for  an  hour.  The  freezing  blast  sv^ept 
with  piercing  power  over  us ;  but,  though  my  teeth 
were  chattering  with  cold,  I  enjoyed  the  mute  sur- 
prise and  awe  of  my  friend  as  he  stood  and  gazed 
around  him. 


GLORIOUS  PROSPECT  FROM  THE  TOP.  43 

At  length,  approaclimg  night  warned  us  to  de- 
part, for  we  had  yet  to  build  us  a  hut  to  sleep  in, 
and  get  our  supper  before  dark,  and  so  we  bade 
the  lordly  summit  good  bye,  and  clattered  furi- 
ously down  its  sides. 


DESCENT  FROM  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  45 


LETTER   IV. 

DESCENT   EEOM    MOUNT  TAHAWUS. 

On  our  descent  from  Mount  Tahawus,  we  be- 
gan to  look  eagerly  around  for  a  dry  spot  wliere 
we  might  make  our  encampment.  Cheney,  who 
was  at  the  head  of  our  straggling  column,  with 
his  axe  in  his  hand,  pushed  on  at  a  break-neck 
pace,  finally  halted,  and  said  that  we  must  stop 
somewhere  immediately,  for  it  was  growing  dark, 
and  we  should  not  be  able  to  build  our  shanty  or 
cut  fuel  for  the  night.  The  place  he  chose  was 
a  damp  mossy  spot,  darkly  shadowed  with  fir 
trees.  It  was  a  gloomy-looking  place;  but  we 
were  all  too  tired  to  make  any  objection,  and  so, 
in  a  few  minutes,  two  or  three  axes  were  resound- 
ing through  the  forest,  and  crack!  crash!  went 
the  trees  on  every  side  of  us,     "Each  man  must 


46  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

pick  his  own  bed,"  said  our  guide;  which  meant 
that  every  man  must  cut  what  boughs  he  himself 
wanted.  I  crawled  up  from  the  stream  where  I 
had  been  sitting  bathing  my  feverish  hands  and 
face,  and  went  to  work.  Scattered  around,  all 
were  busy  hacking  off  fir  tree  boughs  with  their 
knives,  while  the  guides  and  strong  men  who  ac- 
companied us  drew  huge  trees  together  for  a  fire, 
and  put  up  a  shanty.  It  was  voted  to  place 
nothing  but  green  bou:hs  over  this  for  a  cover- 
ing from  the  dew ;  but  the  dark  and  sombro 
heavens  told  too  well  that  a  storm  was  at  hand, 
and  I  insisted  that  lark  shouli  be  placed  at  least 
over  the  spot  I  occupied.  They  finally  covered 
the  whole  with  bark;  and  it  was  well  they  did, 
for  the  rain  soon  began  to  come  down,  and  con- 
tinued to  fall  the  live-lonor  nia'ht.  But  our  fire 
blazed  up  cheerfully  in  the  gloom ;  the  long 
trunks  were  on  fire  from  end  to  end  ;  while  those 
standing  near  would  now  and  then  shoot  up  a 
spiral  flame,  conspiring  to  render  the  scene  still 
more  picturesque.  One  tree,  standing  close  by, 
threatened  to  burn  off  before  morning,  and  I 
asked  the  guide  if  it  would  not  be  dangerous  to 


DESCENT  FROM  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  47 

sleep  so  near  it.  He  cast  his  eye  up  the  tall 
trunk  a  moment,  and  coolly  replied,  as  he  slashed 
off  a  piece  of  roast  venison,  that  '4t  would  fall 
t'other  ivay''  This  was  calculating  rather  closer 
than  I  liked,  but  one  soon  learns  there  is  no  ap- 
peal from  the  decision  of  a  hunter.  "We  presented 
a  singular  group  as  we  sat  in  a  semicircle  around 
our  blazing  fire,  each  with  his  morsel  on  a  chip 
before  him.  At  length,  however,  we  turned  in. 
With  a  few  boughs  placed  over  a  green  stump 
just  cut,  for  a  pillow,  I  rolled  myself  in  my 
blanket,  and  stretched  out  before  the  fire.  In  a 
short  time,  the  crackling  of  the  flames  and  the 
low  steady  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  leaves  sung 
me  to  sleep,  and  my  troubles  were  forgotten. 
About  midnight,  however,  I  was  waked  up  by  an 
intense  heat,  and  rousing  myself,  I  looked  about 
a  moment  and  laughed  long  and  loud.  One  poor 
fellow,  who  had  lain  and  shivered  without  any- 
thing over  him  in  the  damp  air,  had  got  up  and 
piled  on  such  a  quantity  of  dry  fuel,  that  it  was 
roasting  hot.  A  row  of  men  lay  stretched  out 
before  me  like  pickled  herring,  and  it  was  incon- 
ceivably ludicrous  to  see  them  turn  and  twist  in 


48  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

their  sleep  to  escape  the  heat.  First  on  one  side 
and  then  on  the  other,  they  kept  rolling  about, 
until  at  length  one  started  up,  and  looking  a 
moment  at  the  fire,  shot  like  a  bolt  into  the 
woods.  Another  and  another  followed  in  speech- 
less silence,  until  the  whole  shanty  was  empty  of 
every  one  but  myself.  I  lay  at  the  extreme  end, 
and  hence  could  safely  watch  operations. 

The  morning,  the  welcome  morning,  at  length 
came,  though  with  a  heavy  fog,  and  we  again  took 
up  our  line  of  march  through  the  wet  woods,  and 
at  noon  emerged  into  the  little  clearing  where  are 
stationed  the  Adirondac  Iron  Works.  "  Oh,  but 
weary  wights  were  we" — nearly  every  man  of  us, 
from  the  hunter  down,  more  dead  than  alive.  I 
was  struck,  on  this  expedition,  and  indeed  on  seve- 
ral others,  with  the  kindness  of  Mr.  B n,  a 

tall,  powerful  man,  with  one  of  those  frames  of 
iron  which  encase  a  feeling  and  generous  heart. 
He  seemed  to  take  special  charge  of  me,  offering 
continually  to  ease  me  of  my  load,  and  at  night 
always  insisting  I  should  have  the  best  spot  in 
which  to  sleep.  Some  of  the  time  I  suffered  se- 
verely in  the  woods  from  sickness,  and  then  there 


DESCENT  FPwOM  MOUNT  TAHAWUS.  49 

was  nothing  he  would  not  do  for  me.  I  never  be- 
fore received  kindness  which  so  won  upon  me,  and 
the  remembrance  of  which  fills  me  with  more 
grateful  feelings. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  though 
eighty  or  a  hundred  workmen  are  congregated 
here,  there  is  no  Sabbath  to  them  except  that 
which  the  lordly  hills  have— solemn  and  majestic, 
it  may  be,  but  with  no  preacher  but  nature.'    We 

persuaded  W d,  tired  as  he  was,  to  preach; 

and  word  was  sent  round  to  the  few  inhabitants. 
They  came  together  in  a  little  unplastered  room, 
and  listened  attentively  to  two  certainly  most  ex- 
cellent discourses.  It  was  pleasant  to  keep  Sab- 
bath amid  the  old  hills.  It  was  a  beautiful  day, 
and  deep  silence  rested  on  the  mountains  and 
forest,  and  the  voice  of  prayer  went  up  with  the 
great  hymn  of  nature.  And  oh,  how  quietly  and 
sadly  the  Sabbath  evening  came  down  on  that 
lonely  spot,  and  how  brightly  the  great  stars  looked 
with  their  luminous  eyes  over  the  mountain  heights! 
My  heart  went  back  to  my  friends,  and  I  lay  down 
and  dreamed  of  those  I  loved. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  I  did  not  like. 
5 


50      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

The  agent  of  tliese  iron  works,  a  Seotcliman  by 
birth,  and  his  wife,  were  the  only  professors  of 
religion  in  this  spot,  and  yet  he  charged  my  friend 

W d  for  keeping  him  over  the  Sabbath.     If 

two  sermons  were  not  worth  a  day's  board,  he  can- 
not value  the  Gospel  very  highly.  His  tax  for  the 
support  of  religious  services  would  be  rather  small, 
one  would  suspect,  and  it  was  the  least  he  could 
do  to  "give  the  man  who  had  labored  for  his  good 
and  those  under  him  a  free  house  and  an  open 
heart.  I  had  much  rather  he  would -have  added 
the  amount  to  my  bill,  for  he  was  a  gentlemanly 
man,  and  treated  us  with  great  kindness. 

Some  may  ask  what  kind  of  animals  roam  these 
forests.  First,  there  is  the  moose,  the  tallest  of 
American  wild  animals,  being  found  sometimes 
eight  feet  high.  They  are  commonly  hunted  in 
the  spring  on  snow  shoes.  The  snow  usually  falls 
here  to  the  depth  of  four  and  five  feet;  and  in 
the  early  spring,  after  a  thaw  and  subsequent 
frost,  a  stiff  crust  is  formed  which  will  sustain  the 
hunter  on  his  snow-shoes,  while  it  cuts  dreadfully 
the  legs  of  the  moose.  Hence  they  do  not  travel 
at  this  season,  but,  as  the  hunters  call  it,  ^^yardP 


DESCENT  FROM  MOUNT  TAHAWITS.  51 

That  is,  one,  or  two,  or  three  together,  will  beat 
down  the  snow  around  them  in  some  retired  damp 
place  and  browse  as  they  beat.  Another  will 
take  a  low  hill,  covered  with  those  trees  producing 
buds  fit  to  eat,  and  while  the  snow  is  moist  begin 
to  travel  round  and  round  it,  cutting  it  all  up 
into  winding  paths.  He  will  not  stop  to  eat:  but 
when  the  snow  becomes  frozen,  he  follows  the 
path  he  has  made,  browsing  as  he  goes.  When 
found  in  this  position,  he  cannot  run,  for  the  deep 
snow  and  sharp  crust  are  too  much  for  him,  and 
he  falls  an  easy  victim  to  the  rifle  of  the  hunter. 
Deer  are  frequently  killed  in  the  same  way,  and 
the  woods  are  full  of  them.  The  wolf  then  has 
his  feast,  for  his  soft  spreading  paw  sustains  him 
as  he  glides  over  the  crust,  while  the  sharp  hoof 
of  the  poor  deer  cuts  through  at  every  step,  and 
he  is  easily  overtaken.  The  bears  buried  under 
the  snow,  or  rocks,  or  roots  of  trees,  sleep  out  the 
long  winter.  Panthers  are  now  and  then  met, 
but  they  are  shy  of  man,  and  their  sinister  faces 
seldom  intrude  on  his  march  through  the  forest. 
Otters  and  sables  are  found,  and  the  American 
eagle  here  soars  in  his  native  freedom,  lord  of  the 


52  LETTEES  FEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

mountain  crag.  Many  a  savage  fight  occurs  in 
this  wilderness  between  the  hunters  and  wild  ani- 
mals. A  cow  moose,  with  her  calf  beside  her, 
will  fight  either  dogs  or  men  with  desperate  fero- 
city, and  a  wounded  deer  will  sometimes  turn  at 
bay. 

The  lakes  and  streams  are  full  of  fish — trout  of 
the  finest  quality;  and  as  long  as  one  keeps  by 
the  water-courses,  he  need  not  fear  starvation. 
It  is  impossible,  however,  to  get  food  on  the 
mountains.  There  all  is  still,  solemn,  and  de- 
serted, and  one  moves  amid  the  gigantic  forms  of 
nature  as  if  he  were  treading  on  the  ruins  of  a 
past  v>^orld.  The  thunder  breaking  over  their 
summits  is  the  only  sound  that  disturbs  their  re- 
pose. The  river  borne  in  their  bosom  seems  afraid 
to  speak  aloud  till  it  has  reached  the  valley  below; 
while  the  forest  folds  them  in  with  its  drapery  of 
green  in  majestic  silence.  The  only  bold  thing 
there  is  the  wind,  which  shakes  their  green  crests 
with  a  despotic  hand,  and  shouts  aloud  or  whis- 
pers low,  as  suits  its  own  erratic  mood.    ^ 


THE  INDIAN  PASS.  53 


LETTER   V, 


THE  INDIAN  PASS. 


The  only  object  remaining  for  me  to  visit,  be- 
fore I  returned  again  to  civilized  life,  was  the 
famous  Indian  Pass — probably  the  most  remark- 
able mountain  gorge  in  this  country.  On  Monday 
morning,  a  council  waB  called  of  our  party  to  de- 
termine whether  we  should  visit  it.  A  teamster 
from  the  settlements  had  agreed  to  come  for  us 
this  day,  to  take  us  out  the  next;  but  some  of  our 
number,  fearing  his  inability  to  get  through  the 
woods  in  one  day,  proposed  we  should  abandon  all 
further  expeditions,  and  make  our  way  homeward. 
But  the  Indian  Pass  I  was  determined  to  see, 
even  if  I  remained  behind  alone,  and  so  we  all 
together  started  off,  some  of  us  still  lame  from 
our  excursion  to  Mount  Tahawus.  It  was  six 
5* 


54:  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

miles  through  the  forest,  and  we  were  compelled 
to  march  in  sinojle  file.  Now  skirtino;  the  marcrin 
of  a  beautiful  lake,  now  creeping  through  thick- 
ets, and  now  stepping  daintily  across  a  springing 
morass,  we  stretched  forward  until  we  at  length 
struck  a  stream,  the  bed  of  which  we  followed 
into  the  bosom  of  the  mountains.  We  crossed 
deer  paths  every  few  rods,  and  soon  the  two 
hounds  our  hunter  had  taken  with  him  parted 
from  us,  and  their  loud  deep  bay  began  to  ring 
and  echo  through  the  gorge.  The  instincts  with 
which  animals  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  on 
purpose  to  make  them  successful  in  the  chase  is 
one  of  the  most  curious  things  in  nature.  I 
watched  for  a  long  time  the  actions  of  one  of  these 
noble  hounds.  With  his  nose  close  to  the  leaves, 
he  would  double  backwards  and  forwards  on  a 
track,  to  see  whether  it  was  fresh  or  not,  then 
abandon  it  at  once  if  he  found  it  too  old.  At 
length,  striking  a  fresh  one,  he  started  off;  but 
the  next  moment,  finding  he  was  going  back  in- 
stead of  forwards  on  the  track,  he  wheeled  and 
came  dashing  past  on  a  furious  run,  his  eyes 
glaring  with  excitement.     Soon  his  voice  made 


THE  INDIAN  PASS,  55 

the  forest  ring,  and  I  could  imagine  the  quick 
start  it  gave  to  the  deer,  quietly  grazing,  it  might 
have  been,  a  mile  away.  Lifting  its  beautiful 
head  a  moment,  to  ascertain  if  that  cry  of  death 
was  on  his  track,  he  bounded  away  in  the  long 
chase  and  bold  swim  for  life.  Well,  let  them  pass : 
the  cry  grows  fainter  and  fainter,  and  they,  the 
pursued  and  pursuer,  are  but  an  emblem  of  what 
is  going  on  in  the  civilized  world  from  which  I 
am  severed.  Life  may  be  divided  into  two  parts — 
the  hunters  and  the  hunted.  It  is  an  endless 
chase,  where  the  timid  and  the  weak  constantly 
fall  by  the  way.  The  swift  racers  come  and  go 
like  shadows  on  the  vision,  and  the  cries  of  fear 
and  of  victory  swell  on  the  ear  and  die  away,  only 
to  give  place  to  another  and  another. 

Thus  musing,  I  pushed  on,  until  at  length  we 
left  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  began  to  climb 
amid  broken  rocks,  that  were  piled  in  huge  chaos 
up  and  up  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  My 
rifle  became  such  a  burden,  that  I  was  compelled 
to  leave  it  against  a  tree,  with  a  mark  near  it  to 
determine  its  locality.  I  had  expected,  from  paint- 
ings I  had  seen  of  this  Pass,  that  I  was  to  walk 


56  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

almost  on  a  level  into  a  huge  gap  between  two 
mountains,  and  look  up  on  the  precipices  that 
toppled  heaven-high  above  me.  But  here  was  a 
world  of  rocks,  overgrown  with  trees  and  moss 
over  and  under  and  between  which  we  were  com- 
pelled to  crawl  and  dive  and  work  our  way  with 
so  much  exertion  and  care  that  the  strongest  soon 
began  to  be  exhausted.  Caverns  opened  on  every 
side,  and  a  more  hideous,  toilsome,  break-neck- 
tramp  I  never  took.  There  was  a  stream  deep 
down  somewhere,  but  no  foot  could  follow  it,  for 
it  was  a  succession  of  cascades,  with  perpendicular 
walls  each  side,  hemming  it  in.  It  was  more  like 
climbing  a  broken  and  shattered  mountain  than 
entering  a  gorge.  At  length,  however,  we  came 
where  the  fallen  rocks  had  made  an  open  space 
amid  the  forest,  and  spread  a  fearful  ruin  in  its 
place.  [N'ear  by  was  a  huge  rock,  that,  in  some 
former  age,  had  been  loosened  from  its  high  bed, 
and  hurled  with  the  strength  of  a  falling  world, 
below.  It  was  a  precipice  of  itself,  from  which 
to  fall  would  have  been  certain  death.  This  was 
"the  Church"  our  guide  had  spoken  of,  and  it 
did  lift  itself  there  like  a   huge   altar,  right  in 


THE  INDIAN  PASS.  57 

front  of  the  main  precipice,  that  rose  in  a  naked 
wall  a  thousand  feet  perpendicular.  The  top  of 
this  '^churcli'  could  be  reached  on  one  side,  and 
thither  we  clambered  and  lay  down  to  rest  our- 
selves, while  from  our  very  feet  rose  this  awful 
cliff,  that  fairly  oppressed  me  with  its  near  and 
frightful  presence.  Majestic,  solemn,  and  silent, 
with  the  daylight  from  above  pouring  all  over  its 
dread  form,  it  stood  the  impersonation  of  strength 
and  grandeur.  I  never  saw  but  one  precipice 
that  impressed  me  so,  and  that  was  in  the  Alps, 
in  the  Pass  of  the  Grand  Scheideck.  I  lay  on 
my  back,  filled  with  strange  feelings  of  the  power 
and  majesty  of  the  God  who  had  both  framed  and 
rent  this  mountain  asunder.  There  it  stood  still 
and  motionless  in  its  grandeur.  Far,  far  away 
heavenward  rose  its  top,  fringed  with  fir  trees  that 
looked,  at  that  immense  height,  like  mere  shrubs 
— and  they,  too,  did  not  wave,  but  stood  silent 
and  moveless  as  the  rock  they  crowned.  Any 
motion  or  life  would  have  been  a  relief — even  the 
tramp  of  the  storm,  for  there  was  something  fear- 
ful in  that  mysterious,  profound  silence.  How 
loudly  God  speaks  to  the  heart  when  it  lies  thus 


58      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

awe-struck  and  subdued  in  the  presence  of  his 
works.  In  the  shadow  of  such  a  grand  and  ter- 
rible form,  man  seems  but  the  plaything  of  a  mo- 
ment, to  be  blown  away  with  the  first  breath. 

Persons  not  accustomed  to  scenes  of  this  kind 
would  not  at  first  get  an  adequate  impression  of 
the  magnitude  of  the  precipice.  Everything  is 
on  such  a  gigantic  scale — all  the  proportions  so 
vast,  and  the  mountains  so  high  about  it  that  the 
real  individual  greatness  is  lost  sight  of.  But  that 
wall  of  a  thousand  feet  perpendicular,  with  its 
seams  and  rents  and  stooping  cliffs,  is  one  of  the 
few  things  in  the  world  daguerreotyped  on  my 
heart.  It  frowns  on  my  vision  in  my  solitary 
hours,  and  with  feelings  half  of  sympathy,  I 
think  of  it  standing  there  in  its  lonely  majesty: 

"  Has  not  the  soul,  the  being  of  your  hfe, 
Received  a  shock  of  awful  consciousness, 
In  some  calm  season,  when  those  lofty  rocks, 
At  night's  approach,  bring  down  th'  unclouded  sky 
To  rest  upon  the  circumambient  walls  ; 
A  temple  framing  of  dimensions  vast. 
And  yet  not  too  enormous  for  the  sound 
Of  human  anthems,  choral  song,  or  burst 


THE  INDIAN  PASS,  69 

Sublime  of  instrumental  harmony, 
To  glorify  th'  Eternal !     What  if  these 
Did  never  break  the  stillness  that  prevails 
Here — if  the  solemn  nightingale  be  mute, 
And  the  soft  woodlark  here  did  never  chant 
Her  vespers  !     Nature  fails  not  to  provide 
Impulse  and  utterance.     The  whispering  air 
Sends  inspiration  from  the  shadowy  heights, 
And  blind  recesses  of  the  cavern^d  rocks  ; 
The  little  rills  and  waters  numberless, 
Insensible  by  daylight,  blend  their  notes 
With  the  loud  streams  ;  and  often  at  the  hour 
When  issue  forth  the  first  pale  stars,  is  heard. 
Within  the  circuit  of  the  fabric  huge. 
One  voice — one  solitary  raven,  flying 
Athwart  the  concave  of  the  dark  blue  dome. 
Unseen — perchance  above  the  power  of  sight — 
An  iron  knell!  with  echoes  from  afar. 
Faint  and  still  fainter." 

I  will  only  add  tliat  none  of  the  drawings  or 
paintings  I  have  seen  of  this  Pass  give  a  correct 
idea  of  it. 

We  turjied  our  steps  homeward,  and  reached 
the  Adirondac  Iron  Works  at  noon,  having 
traveled  twelve  miles,  a  part  of  the  way  on  our 
hands  and  knees.     After  dinner,  it  was  resolved 


60  LETTERS  FEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

to  push  on  and  meet  our  teamster,  who,  we  were 
afraid,  would  be  compelled  to  encamp  in  the  forest 
alone  with  his  team.  Getting  our  guide  to  row 
us  five  miles  down  Lake  Sandford,  we  bade  him 
good-bje,  and,  shouldering  our  knapsacks,  started 
off.  I  had  received  a  fall  in  the  Pass  which  stun- 
ned me  dreadfully,  and  made  every  step  like  driv- 
ing a  nail  into  my  brain.  Losing  my  footing,  I 
had  fallen  backwards,  and  gone  down  head  fore- 
most among  the  rocks — a  few  feet,  either  side, 
and  this  letter  had  probably  never  been  written. 
We  expected  every  moment  to  meet  our  teamster, 
but  were  disappointed,  and  thus  traveled  on  until 
twilight  began  to  gather  over  the  forest,  ad- 
monishing us  to  seek  a  place  of  rest  for  the  night. 
"We  had  now  gone  sixteen  miles  from  the  Adiron- 
dacs,  which,  added  to  the  twelve  miles  to  and 
from  the  Pass,  made  a  severe  day's  work  of  it. 
Twilight  brought  us  to  the  Boreas  River,  and  here 
we  found  a  log  shanty  which  some  timber  cutters 
had  put  up  the  winter  before  and  deserted  in  the 
spring.  It  was  a  lonely-looking  thing,  dilapi- 
dated and  ruinous,  with  some  straw  below,  and  a 
few  loose  boards  laid  across  the  loss  above.     We 


THE  INDIAN  PASS.  61 

kindled  a  blazing  fire  outside,  and  divided  our  last 
provisions  among  us,  then  sought  our  repose.  As 
I  said,  only  a  few  boards  were  laid  across  the  logs 
above,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  loft  perfectly  open. 
By  getting  on  to  a  sort  of  scaffolding,  and  reaching 
up  to  the  timbers,  we  were  able  to  swing  ourselves 
up  on  the  few  loose  boards  that  furnished  a  scanty 
platform.  After  I  had  succeeded  in  reaching 
this  perch,  I  helped  the  others  up ;  but  Rev.  Mr. 

W d  was  rather  too  heavy,  and,  just  as  he 

had  fairly  landed  on  the  hoards,  one  gave  way, 
and  down  he  went.  I  seized  him  by  the  collar, 
while  he,  with  one  hand  fastened  to  my  leg  and 
the  other  grasping  the  timber,  succeeded  in  arrest- 
ing his  fall,  and  thus  probably  saved  himself  a 
broken  limb.  "We  lay  in  a  row,  on  our  backs, 
along  this  frail  scaffolding,  filling  it  up  from  end 
to  end,  so  that  if  the  outside  ones  should  roll  a 
single  foot  in  their  sleep,  they  would  be  precipi- 
tated below.  A  more  uncomfortable  night  I 
never  passed,  and  I  lay  and  watched  the  chinks 
in  the  roof  for  daylight  to  appear,  till  it  seemed 
that  morning  would  never  come.  I  resolved 
6 


62  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

never  again  to  abandon  mj  couch  of  leaves  for 
boards  and  a  mined  hut,  through  which  vermin 
swarmed  in  such  freedom.  At  length  the  wel- 
come light  broke  slowly  over  the  mighty  forest, 
and  I  turned  out.  Huge  stones  and  billets  of 
wood  hurled  on  the  roof  soon  brought  forth  the 
rest  of  our  companions,  and  we  started  off.  We 
had  nothing  to  eat,  and  seven  weary  miles  were 
before  us  before  we  could  obtain  a  breakfast. 
The  clear  morning  air  could  not  revive  me,  and  I 
pushed  on,  more  dead  than  alive.  At  length  we 
emerged  into  a  clearing,  and  there  in  a  log  hut 
sat  our  teamster,  quietly  eating  his  breakfast. 
The  day  before,  he  had  started  through  the 
forest,  but  becoming  frightened  at  the  wildness 
and  desolateness  that  increased  at  every  step,  he 
turned  back.  Hungry,  cross,  and  weary,  we  sat 
down  to  breakfast,  and  then  stowed  ourselves 
away  into  a  lumber  wagon,  and  rode  thirty  miles 
to  our  respective  stopping-places.  The  little  set- 
tlement seemed  like  a  large  village  to  me,  and 
the  inhabitants  the  most  refined  people  I  had 
ever  met.     Several  days'^  rest  restored  me,  and 


THE  INDIAN  PASS,  63 

then  I  began  to  feel  my  system  rally,  and  be- 
came conscious  of  strength  and  vitality  to  which 
I  had  been  a  stranger  for  six  months. 


LONG  LAKE.  65 


LETTER    yi, 


LONG  LAKE. 


Long  Lake,  July. 
You  have  heretofore  had  a  good  many  letters 
from  Long  Lake,  descriptive  of  its  scenery,  capa- 
bilities of  its  land,  the  interesting  colony  on  its 
borders,  &c.  With  regard  to  the  scenery,  there 
can  be  but  one  opinion — it  is  unrivaled.  Long 
Lake  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sheets  of  water 
I  ever  floated  over,  and  its  framework  of  mount- 
ains becomes  the  glorious  picture.  I  never  saw^  a 
more  beautiful  island  than  "Round  Island,"  as  it 
is  called,  situated  near  midv/ay  of  the  lake.  As 
you  look  at  it  from  above  or  below,  it  appears  to 
stand  between  two  promontories,  that,  wdth  their 
green  and  rounded  points,  are  striving  to  reach  it 
as  they  push  boldly  out  into  the  water ;  while  with 
6* 


66  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

its  abrupt  high  banks,  from  which  go  up  the  lofty 
pine-trees,  it  looks  like  a  huge  green  cylinder, 
sunk  there  endwise  in  the  waves.  I  wish  I  owned 
that  island.  It'would  be  pleasant  to  be  possessor 
of  so  much  beauty.  I  said  once,  through  your 
paper,  that  this  never  could  be  a  good  farming 
country,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  that  term; 
and  I  was  asked  if  I  had  seen  this,  and  that,  and 
the  other  lake.  I  now  repeat  my  former  assertion, 
and  say,  as  then,  that  this  might  become  a  good 
wool-growing  region,  or  dairy  country,  but  nothing 
more.  It  is,  in  the  first  place,  the  most  mountain- 
ous portion  of  this  State ;  indeed,  I  do  not  believe 
there  is  in  the  Union  a  territory  three  hundred 
miles  in  circumference  so  terribly  rough  and  wild 
as  this.  It  is  not  only  mountainous,  but  has  the 
disadvantage  of  being  the  source  of  nearly  all  the 
waters  of  northern  and  eastern  New  York,  and 
hence  has  less  alluvial  soil  than  equally  rough  dis- 
tricts lying  along  large  rivers.  All  mountainous 
regions  have  more  or  less  interval  land,  with  a 
rich,  deep  soil ;  but  here  the  intervals  are  lakes. 
Water  occupies  the  place  ordinarily  appropriated 
to  towns  and  meadows.     There  is  good  land  here. 


LONG  LAKE.  67 

no  doubt,  and  large  tracts  which  are  arable,  and 
would  be  fruitful;  but  the  question  is,  what  pro- 
portion does  this  bear  to  that  which  cannot  be  cul- 
tivated ?  I  have  seen  fields  of  waving  grain  in  the 
vale  of  Chamouni,  and  thousands  of  cattle  grazing 
in  rich  pastures  in  Grindelwald,  and  long  stretches 
of  meadow  in  the  valley  of  Mejringen;  but  it 
would  be  ridiculous  to  call  the  Alpine  district  a 
good  farming  country,  for  all  that.  I  venture  to  say 
that  there  are  three  hundred  acres  in  this  region 
a  plough  will  never  touch,  to  one  that  it  will.  Be- 
sides, it  is  a  cold  climate  here,  and  the  summers 
are  short.  Neither  corn  nor  wheat  can  be  relied 
on  as  a  crop.  Grass,  rye,  oats,  and  potatoes  may 
be  grown,  and  these  are  all. 

Now  here  is  a  colony,  called  the  Long  Lake 
Colony,  about  which  much  has  been  said,  much 
sympathy  excited,  and  on  which  more  or  less 
money  has  been  expended.  And  what  is  its  con- 
dition? It  has  been  established  for  many  years, 
and  by  this  time  it  ought  to  furnish  some  induce- 
ments to  the  farmer  who  would  locate  here,  nearly 
fifty  miles  from  a  post-office  or  store,  and  half 
that  distance  from  a  good  mill.     But  what  is  the 


68      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

truth  respecting  it?  Not  a  man  here  sujjports 
himself  from  Ms  farm;  and  I  can  see  no  gain 
since  I  was  here  two  years  ago.  Some  of  the 
best  men  have  left,  and  those  that  remain  depend 
on  the  money  (some  seven  hundred  dollars)  fur- 
nished by  the  State  for  the  making  of  roads,  to 
buy  their  provisions  with.  The  church  which  was 
organized  some  time  since  was  never  worthy  of 
the  name  of  one;  the  few  men  who  composed  it, 
with  some  few  exceptions,  being  anything  but 
religious  men.  I  was  told  by  one  of  the  chief 
men  here  that  one  man  now  constituted  the  entire 
"Congregational  Church  of  Long  Lake."  There 
are  no  meetings  held  on  the  Sabbath,  not  even  a 
Sabbath  school.  As  I  went  from  house  to  house, 
I  saw  books  scattered  round  belono-ino;  to  the 
Long  Lake  Library,  marked,  some  of  them,  with 
the  names  of  the  donors;  but  they  seemed  to  me 
thrown  away.  The  truth  is,  the  people  here,  as 
a  general  thing,  would  not  give  a  farthing  for  any 
religious  privileges,  indeed  would  rather  be  with- 
out them;  and  instead  of  this  colony  being  a 
centre  from  which  shall  radiate  an  immense  popu- 
lation, covering  the  whole  of  this  wild  region,  it 


LONG  LAKE.  69 

will  drag  on  a  miserable  existence,  composed,  two- 
thirds  of  it,  by  those  who  had  rather  hunt  than 
work.  I  do  not  mean  to  disparage  this  central 
region  of  New  York;  but  I  would  divest  it  of 
the  romance  of  dreamers,  and  the  falsehoods  of 
land  speculators.  If  settlers  could  have  picked 
out  their  own  farms  at  Long  Lake,  and  clustered 
around  the  lower  extremity,  they  might  have  done 
well;  but  these  lands,  which  are  tolerably  fair, 
speculators  have  retained,  selling  the  poorer  por- 
tions at  a  low  price  to  tempt  buyers.  It  is  in 
contemplation  to  drive  a  rail-road  through  this 
entire  region,  reaching  from  Lake  Ghamplain  to 
Bonville  near  Rome.  This,  though  ruinous  to  the 
stockholders,  would  be  of  great  advantage  to  the 
land,  by  bringing  whatever  it  could  produce  near 
market.  I  would  like  to  see  this  desolate  country 
settled;  but  it  never  will  be  till  the  west  is  all 
occupied.  An  overplus  population  will  subdue  it, 
nothing  else.  Crowding  may  drive  farmers  here, 
but  no  gentler  means.  Say  what  men  will,  it  is 
an  awfully  rough,  cold,  and  forbidding  country  to 
the  farmer.  The  Swiss  from  the  Alps,  or  the 
Scotch  from  the  Highlands,  mighl^  pitch  their 


70  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

abodes  here,  and  stay — necessity  alone  will  keep 
the  rest;  and  when  this  forest-covered  territory 
shall  '^support  a  millioji  of  people,'"  the  State  of 
New  York  will  show  a  census  equal  to  that  of  the 
whole  Union  at  present.  As  I  have  said,  I  would 
not  discourage  a  single  man  from  doing  his  part 
towards  subduing  this  region;  but  I  would  that 
every  one  should  know  precisely  what  he  has  to 
expect.  Still  I  should  not  have  made  these  re- 
marks, had  not  some  statements  of  mine  been 
contradicted,  and  I  often  been  questioned  as  to 
their  truth.  Many  have  wondered  that  I  did  not 
maintain  what  I  asserted;  but  I  chose  rather  to 
defer  it  till  I  again  visited  Long  Lake.  And 
now,  when  I  see  no  missionary  here,  no  church, 
no  meetings  on  the  Sabbath,  and  no  prayer-meet- 
ings— not  even  a  school,  and  many  of  the  best 
men  gone,  and  the  wilderness  no  more  encroached 
on  than  before — I  feel  that  my  former  conclusions 
were  sound,  and  my  predictions  true. 

Notwithstanding  the  forbidding  aspect  things 
present,  I  believe,  as  I  have  always  said,  that  this 
might  be  made  a  tolerable  dairy  country.  It  may 
be  too   col(Lfor  sheep;  but  if  not,  wool  enough 


LONG  LAKE.  71 

might  be  grown  here  to  supply  the  world.  It 
needs  enterprising  settlers — men  who  go  to  build 
their  fortunes,  not  to  save  themselves  from  star- 
vation ;  who  take  pride  in  cultivating  society,  and 
have  some  ambition  to  establish  schools  and 
churches.  The  truth  is,  this  land  should  never 
have  gone  out  of  the  hands  of  government  into 
those  of  speculators,  who  seek  their  own  interests 
entirely  in  the  way  they  dispose  of  it.  Had  it 
been  left  open  for  every  man  to  choose  a  portion 
from,  the  best  would  have  been  taken  first,  and 
the  poorer  soil  been  gradually  encroached  upon 
by  the  increase  of  population  around  flourishing 
settlements.  Now  the  worst  is  first  occupied,  be- 
cause first  placed  in  the  market  at  a  reasonable 
price,  and  it  will  not  support  the  buyer.  He  who 
comes  into  this  region  must  expect  to  work  hard 
with  little  recompense,  see  a  rough  stony  farm  re- 
ject his  labor,  and  make  up  by  economy  what  he 
lacks  by  acquirement. 

Still,  this  is  a  glorious  region  to  the  hunter 
after  the  picturesque  and  grand  in  nature.  I  know 
nothing  equal  to  it  this  side  of  the  Alps.  These 
lofty  mountains,  folding  their  summits  so  calmly 


72      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

and  solemnly  away  against  tlie  sky — these  beau- 
tiful lakes  in  their  green  inclosures  sparkling  in 
the  sun — these  countless  islands  and  winding 
rivers  make  it  a  land  of  beauty  and  sublimity,  that 
once  seen  is  ever  after  remembered.  Still,  much 
of  its  interest  is  owing  to  its  very  wildness.  The 
shores  of  these  lakes  look  beautiful  because  a 
mantle  of  foliage  sweeps  down  to  the  very  margin 
of  the  waters  ;  but  where  they  are  cultivated^, 
rocks  and  stones  present  a  sterile  aspect  to  the 
beholder.  Cut  down  the  trees,  and  two- thirds  of 
all  the  beauty  of  this  region  would  depart.  There 
would  be  no  sloping  shores,  carrying  the  rich 
meadow  or  waving  grain  to  the  water's  edge,  as 
on  the  Cayuga  and  Skaneateles  Lakes,  but  in  their 
place  abrupt  banks,  covered  with  rocks  that  no 
cultivation  could  cover. 

But  it  is  with  singnilar  feeling  one  fresh  from 
the  city  stands  here  and  looks  around  on  the  in- 
terminable forests,  and  remembers  that  it  is  a 
hard  day's  work  to  get  out  to  civilized  life,  and  yet 
that  his  feet  are  on  the  soil  of  New  York,  and  a 
few  roods  of  ground  divide  him  from  the  waters 
of  the  Hudson.     It  is  no  small  job  to  get  here, 


LONa  LAKE.  73 

and  to  one  not  accustomed  to  the  woods  it  is  abso- 
lutely frightful.  Several  companies  from  New 
York,  after  penetrating  half-way  into  the  forest, 
have  become  alarmed  and  disheartened,  and  turned 
back,  and  I  am  not  surprised  at  it.  A  young  man 
with  me,  brought  up  in  the  country,  but  along 
the  Cayuga  Lake,  could  not  refrain  from  expres- 
sions almost  of  alarm.  "  How  savage!"  he  would 
say;  ^' it  is  really  horrible,  day  after  day,  and 
nothing  but  woods.''  And  how  solemn  it  is  to 
move  all  day  through  a  majestic  colonnade  of 
trees,  and  feel  that  you  are  in  a  boundless  cathe- 
dral whose  organ  notes  swell  and  die  away  with 
the  passing  wind  like  some  grand  requiem.  Still 
more  exciting  is  it  to  lie  at  midnight  by  your  camp- 
fire,  and  watch  the  moon  sailing  up  amid  the 
trees,  or  listen  to  the  cry  of  the  loon,  wild  and 
lonely,  on  the  wild  and  lonely  lake,  or  the  hoot 
of  the  owl  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  forest. 


TROUT  FISHING.  75 


LETTER   VII. 

TROUT  FISHING — MITCHELL. 

Long  Lake,  July  10. 
I  SPOKE  in  my  last  of  the  farming  capabilities 
around  Long  Lake,  and  of  the  colony  there,  which 
seem  to  be  about  on  a  par — neither  being  very 
great  or  very  enticing.  My  remarks,  however, 
did  not  refer  to  the  land  beyond  Long  Lake  on 
the  farther  slopes  as  they  stretch  to  the  Black 
Eiver  country.  This  region  I  have  but  slightly 
visited,  and  am  told  it  is  more  level  and  fertile 
than  that  portion  I  have  been  describing.  Pro- 
fessor F.  Benedict,  of  Vermont  University,  has 
gone  over  this  entire  section  of  the  State,  and  he 
tells  me  the  land  is  very  different  around  Eaquet 
Lake,  and  so  on  West.  His  knowledge  of  the 
country  is  extensive,  and  he  has  made  the  most 
correct  surveys  of  its  great  chain  of  lakes  ever 


76      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

executed— better  even  than  that  contained  in  the 
geological  report  of  the  State. 

But  my  mind  was  soon  off  the  land  and  on  the 
scenery.  I  did  not  come  here  to  speculate  in 
town  lots,  to  found  a  colony,  or  subserve  the  in- 
terests of  landowners.  Being  after  health,  I 
sought  the  fatiguing  tramp  and  coarse  fare  of  the 
woods.  It  was  a  hot  day  as  we  emerged  from 
the  woods  on  to  the  shore  of  Long  Lake,  and  the 
sun  came  down  with  such  scorching  power  that  I 
marked  Friday,  July  10th,  in  my  calendar,  to 
see  if  the  temperature  was  correspondingly  high 
in  New  York  and  the  settlements.  Well,  this 
burning  day  I  rode  in  a  lumber  wagon  through 
the  woods  over  roots  and  rocks  seven  miles,  walk- 
ed seven  miles,  and  rowed  a  boat  eleven  miles — a 
good  day's  work  for  an  invalid  fresh  from  the 
doctor's  hands.  Along  the  road  you  would  see 
trees  at  certain  intervals,  marked  H,  which,  after 
vainly  attempting  to  account  for,  I  finally  inquired 
the  reason  of.  "  Oh,  it  means  Highway,'"  was  the 
reply.  This  rather  comical  way,  however,  of  in- 
forming one  he  was  on  the  highway,  is  not,  after 
all,  or  rather  was  not,  without  its  use.     When  the 


TKOUT  FISHINa.  77 

first  rude  path  was  cut,  a  man  would  not  have 
deemed  himself  on  a  public  road  if  he  had  not 
been  told  of  it  in  some  way.  As  we  passed  along, 
we  would  come  upon  fires  built  over  a  huge  rock 
in  the  middle  of  the  track,  compelling  us  to  take 
a  semicircle  in  the  woods.  On  inquiring  the  cause 
of  this  to  me  singular  procedure,  I  was  told  that 
men  were  working  on  the  road,  and  in  the  absence 
of  drills,  took  this  method  of  breaking  the  rocks 
to  pieces.  Being  sandstone,  the  fire  slowly  crum- 
bled them  apart,  so  that  the  crowbar  or  handspike 
could  remove  them.  I  thought  of  Hannibal,  and 
his  fire  and  vinegar  on  the  rocks  of  the  San  Ber- 
nard pass,  and  men  seemed  going  back  to  their 
primitive  state.  Instead  of  cutting  down  the  trees 
that  stood  in  the  way,  they  hewed  off  the  roots, 
and  then  hitching  a  rope  to  the  tops,  pulled  them 
over  with  oxen.  And  thus  they  work  and  toil 
away  here  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  all  heedless 
of  the  great  world  without.  How  strange  it  seems, 
to  behold  men  thus  occupied,  living  contentedly, 
fifty  miles  from  a  post-office  or  village,  and  hear 
their  inquiries  about  the  war  with  Mexico,  asking 
of  events  that  had  been  quite  forgotten  in  New 


78  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

York  !  They  have  their  ambition,  but  its  object 
is  a  few  acres  of  well-cultivated  land,  or  the  repu- 
tation of  a  good  hunter ;  and  they  have  their 
troubles,  but  they  are  born  and  die  in  the  bosom 
of  the  forest.  Men  toiling  for  a  bare  subsistence, 
for  the  coarsest  fare,  poorest  dwellings,  and  mea- 
gre comforts  of  civilized  life,  always  set  me  musing, 
and  this  veiled  life  of  ours  grows  still  more  myste- 
rious, and  man,  god-like,  immortal  man,  strangely 
like  a  mere  animal. 

But  on  the  broad  lake,  before  a  brisk  breeze, 
and  bending  to  my  oars,  these  thoughts  soon  left 
me.  The  tiny  waves  rocked  our  cockle-shell  of  a 
boat  like  a  plaything  amid  the  bubbles,  while  a 
bush  I  had  erected  in  the  centre  made  it  fairly 
foam  through  the  water  as  the  swift  blast  came 
down  through  the  mountain  gorges.  Far  away 
to  the  southwest,  the  golden  sky  shone  glorious, 
and  over  its  illuminated  depths  the  fragmentary 
clouds  went  trooping  as  if  joyous  with  life,  while 
ta  the  northwest,  towards  which  our  frail  craft 
was  driving,  the  heavens  were  black  as  midnight, 
and  the  retiring  storm-cloud  looked  dark  and 
fierce   as   wrath,  retreating,  though   still    uncon- 


MITCHELL.  79 

quered.  The  sun  was  hastening  to  the  riclge  of 
the  sky-seeking  mountains,  and  his  departing 
beams  threw  in  still  deeper  contrast  the  under 
side  of  the  clouds.  But  still  the  waves  kept  danc- 
ing in  the  light,  as  if  determined  not  to  be 
frowned  out  of  their  frolic,  and  it  was  with  no 
little  pleasure  I  watched  the  awful-looking  mass 
that  covered  the  northern  heavens  yield  to  the 
glorious,  balmy,  yet  swift  careering  breeze  that 
came  sweeping  the  heart  of  the  lake.  I  was 
after  Mitchell,  tho  Indian,  whom  I  had  formerly 
taken  with  me,  and  who,  I  was  told,  was  on  a 
fishing  excursion,  w.th  his  father  and  sister  and 
some  others,  in  Cold  River.  At  length,  just  as 
we  were  glancing  away  from  the  head  of  a  beau- 
tiful island,  I  saw  a  boat  coming  towards  us  im- 
pelled against  the  wind  by  the  steady  strokes  of 
a  powerful  rower.  As  it  shot  near,  I  beheld  the 
swarthy  and  benevolent  face  of  Mitchell.  He 
lay  on  his  oars  scarcely  a  minute  to  hear  my 
salutation,  and  my  proposition,  when  he  pointed 
to  a  deep  bay  a  mile  distant,  around  which 
stretched  a  white  line  of  sand,  and  ag^in  bent  to 
his  oars.     I  followed  after,  for  I  knew  there  was 


80      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

his  camp,  and  soon  after  our  boats  grated  on  the 
smooth  beachj  and  we  were  sitting  beside  a  bark 
shanty  and  discussing  our  filture  plans.  But 
those  few  barks  piled  against  some  poles  were  not 
enough  to  cover  us,  and  soon  every  one  was  at 
work  peeling  spruce  trees  or  picking  hemlock 
boughs  f-r  our  couch.  The  cloudless  sun  went 
proudly,  nay  to  me  triumph  mtly,  to  his  royal 
couch  amid  the  mountain  summits,  and  as  twilight 
it  deepened  over  the  wild  landscape,  our  camp-fire 
shot  its  cheerful  flame  heavenward,  and  we  lay 
scattered  around  amid  the  trees  in  delightful 
indolence.  Already  my  system  began  to  rally  in 
thj  presence  of  nature,  and  though  a  miser- 
able invalid,  with  the  bronchitis  to  boot,  I  felt 
that  I  could  lay  my  head  beneath  the  forest 
and  sleep  without  a  fear. 

Mitchell  had  caught  some  trout — right  noble 
ones — and  those,  with  the  contents  of  our  knap- 
sacks, promised  us  a  noble  supper.  The  trout 
were  rolled  in  Indian  meal,  and  fried  in  a  little 
pan  we  had  with  us,  except  a  few  that  were  spit- 
ted on  long  sticks,  that,  with  one  end  stuck  in  the 
ground,  with  the  other  held  their  tempting  bur- 


MITCHELL.  81 

dens  above  the  smoke  and  flame.  I  split  off  a 
new  fresh  chip  for  a  plate  on  which  I  spread  mj 
delicious  trout,  with  a  piece  of  hot  johnny-cake 
bj  his  side,  and,  placing  my  back  against  a 
stump,  held  him  with  one  hand,  while  my  good 
hunting-knife  peeled  off  his  salmon-colored  sides 
in  most  tempting,  delicious  morsels.  I  ate  with 
an  appetite  and  keen  relish  I  had  been  a  stranger 
to  for  months,  and  then  asked  Mitchell  if  we  could 
not  get  a  deer  before  going  to  bed.  He  said  yes, 
if  the  wind  went  down  so  "that  we  could  float 
them.  This  floating  deer  I  will  describe  in  an- 
other place,  for  there  was  no  stirring  out  to-night. 
The  wrathful  little  swells  came  rushing  furiously 
against  the  unoffending  beach,  and  the  tall  tree- 
tops  swayed  to  and  fro  and  sighed  in  the  blast, 
and  our  roughly-fanned  fire  threw  its  sparks  in 
swift  eddies  heavenward,  and  all  was  wild,  so- 
lemn, and  almost  fearful.  No  boat  must  leave  the 
beach  to-night,  and  so,  carefully  loading  our  rifles 
and  setting  them  up  against  the  trees,  we  began 
to  prepare  for  our  night's  repose.  Some  with 
their  heads  under  the  bark  shanty,  their  feet  to 
the  fire,  others  in  the  open  forest,  with  their  heads 


82      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

across  a  stick  of  wood,  lay  stretched  their  full 
lengths  upon  the  earth.  I  lay  down  for  awhile, 
but  the  wind  that  had  increased  at  the  going  down 
of  the  sun  now  blew  furiously,  and  crash  went  a 
tree  in  the  forest,  sounding  for  all  the  world  like 
the  dull  report  of  distant  cannon.  I  could  not 
sleep,  and  so,  rising  from  my  couch  of  boughs,  I 
went  out  and  sat  down  on  the  ground,  and  looked 
and  listened.  The  steady  roar  of  the  waves  on 
the  beach  below  mingled  with  the  rush  of  the 
blast  above,  while  the  tall  trees  rocked  and  swung 
on  every  side,  and  flung  out  their  long  arms  into 
the  night,  their  leafy  tresses  streaming  before 
them,  and  groaned  on  their  ancient  foundations 
with  a  deep  and  steady  sound  that  filled  my  heart 
with  emotions  at  once  solemn  and  fearful.  Some- 
times I  thought  one  of  those  gigantic  forms  must 
fall  in  the  struggle  and  crush  some  of  our  com- 
pany into  the  earth,  and  then  again  my  soul 
would  bow  to  the  lordly  music  till  that  great 
primeval  forest  seemed  one  vast  harp,  their 
trunks  and  branches  the  mighty  wires,  and  that 
strong  blast  the  fierce  and  fearless  hand  that 
swept  them,     Now  faint  and  far  in  the  distance 


MITCHELL.  83 

I  coiild  catch  the  coming  anthem,  till  swelling 
fuller  and  clearer  in  its  rapid  march,  it  at  length 
"went  over  me  with  a  roar  that  was  deafening, 
then  died  away,  like  a  retiring  wave,  on  the  far 
tree  tops.  Sometimes  my  awakened  imagination 
would  compare  the  sound  to  a  troop  of  horse 
whose  steady  tramp,  at  first  low  and  indistinct, 
soon  shook  the  earth  with  its  tread,  then  sud- 
denly and  fiercely  sweeping  by,  gradually  lost 
itself  in  the  distance.  The  steeds  of  the  air  were 
out,  and  their  successive  squadrons,  as  they  went 
trampling  over  the  bending  tree  tops,  made  the 
forest  tremble.  God  seemed  near,  there  in  the 
solitude  and  night,  and  his  voice  seemed  speaking 
to  me.  How  calm  the  sleepers  around  me  lay  in 
the  firelight,  reposing  as  quietly  amid  this  wild 
uproar  as  if  naught  but  the  dews  were  gently 
distilling,  and  yet  how  helpless  they  seemed  in 
their  slumbers !  God  alone  was  their  keeper, 
and  I  never  felt  more  deeply  the  protection  of 
that  parental  hand  than  here  at  midnight. 

The  moon  at  length  arose  on  the  darkness, 
and  the  wind  lulled  gradually  into  silence.  I 
threw  myself  on  the  ground,  and  watched  the 


84  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

bright  orb  as  it  slowly  mounted  the  heavens,  till 
finally  weariness  prevailed,  and  I  slept.  The 
crack  of  a  rifle  startled  me  from  my  repose  before 
an  hour  had  passed  by,  and  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 
That  was  a  rude  waking  to  one  not  accustomed 
to  a  hunter's  life,  but  nothing  but  a  poor  rabbit 
had  sufi'ered.  One  of  the  young  men  had  shot 
him  as  he  was  stealing  around  the  camp  fire,  at- 
tracted by  the  food  we  had  left  scattered  about. 

The  welcome  morning  at  length  came,  and  a 
little  after  daylight  we  were  afloat,  steering  for 
Cold  River,  in  order  to  take  some  trout  for 
breakfast. 


TROUTING.  85 


LETTER    VIII. 

TROUTINa— A  DUCK  PROTECTING  HER  YOUNG  BY 
STRATAGEM — SABBATH  IN  THE  FOREST. 

The  morning  broke  clear  and  beautiful  over 
our  encampment,  and  two  boats  of  us  started  for 
Cold  River  to  take  some  trout  for  breakfast.  The 
Indian  and  myself  went  ahead,  hoping  to  surprise 
some  deer  feeding  in  the  marshes,  but  were  dis- 
appointed. Reaching  the  foot  of  the  lake,  we 
shot  noiselessly  down  the  Rackett  River,  till  we 
came  to  a  huge  rock  that  rose  out  of  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  when  we  turned  off  and  began  to 
ascend  Cold  River.  This  latter  stream,  for  some 
distance,  sends  a  noiseless  current  over  a  smooth 
and  pebbly  bed,  while  the  water  is  almost  as  clear 
as  the  air  above  you.  Everything  on  the  bottom 
is  as  visible  as  if  it  were  on  the  shores ;  and  when 
the  sun  is  up,  it  is  impossible  to  take  a  trout, 
8 


B6  LETTEES  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS, 

though  the  stream  is  full  of  them.  When  we 
reached  it,  the  surface  was  covered  with  foam 
bubbles,  made  bj  the  constant  springing  of  the 
trout  after  flies,  Thej  had  absolutely  churned  it; 
up,  and  for  a  while  our  hooks  brought  them  to 
the  surface  fast;  but  we  were  too  late.  The  sun, 
rising  oyer  the  forest,  shed  such  a  flood  of  light 
on  the  water,  and  indeed  through  it,  to  the  very 
bottom,  that  scarcely  a  fish,  could  be  coaxed  from 
his  hiding-place.  Our  boats  and  ourselves  threw 
strong  shadows  on  the  water,  sufficient  to  frighten 
less  wary  fish  than  trout.  "We,  however,  took 
enough  for  breakfast,  and  started  for  home.  By 
the  way,  is  it  not  a  little  singular  that  fish  should 
eat  their  own  flesh?  The  first  one  we  caught 
served  as  bait  for  the  others. 

As  we  were  returning,  Mitchell  left  the  main 
stream  and  entered  a  narrow  and  shallow  channel, 
that,  by  making  a  circuitous  route,  reached  the 
lake  close  beside  the  river.  Passing  silently  along, 
we  roused  up  a  brood  of  ducks  among  the  reeds. 
The  mother  first  took  the  alarm,  and,  seeing  at  a 
glance  that  she  could  not  escape  with  her  young, 
left  them  and  fluttered  out  directly  ahead  of  our 


A  DUCK  PROTECTING  HER  YOUNG.  87 

Ijoat.  She  tlien  began  to  make  a  terrible  ado, 
striking  her  wings  on  the  water,  and  screaming, 
and  darting  backwards  and  forvfards,  as  if  dread- 
fully wounded  and  could  be  easily  picked  up  with 
a  little  effort,  I  instinctively  raised  my  rifle  to  my 
shoulder;  then,  thinking  the  shot  might  frighten 
the  deer  we  were  after,  I  turned  to  Mitchell  and 
inquired  if  I  should  fire.  "  I  guess  I  wouldn't," 
he  replied;  "she  has  young  ones."  My  gun 
dropped  in  a  moment..  I  stood  rebuked,  not  only 
hj  my  own  feelings,  but  by  the  Indian  with  me. 
I  was  shocked  that  this  hunter,  who  had  lived  for 
so  many  years  on  the  spoils  of  the  forest,  should 
teach  me  tenderness  of  feeling.  That  mother's 
voice  found  an  echo  in  his  heart,  and  he  would 
not  harm  one  feather  of  her  plumage ;  nor  could 
the  bribe  be  named  that  would  then  have  induced 
me  to  strike  the  anxious,  affectionate  creature. 
As  I  watched  her  thus  sacrificing  herself  to  save 
her  young,  provoking  the  death-shot  in  order  to 
draw  attention  from  them,  I  wondered  how  I  could 
for  a  single  moment  have  wished  to  destroy  her. 
I  leaned  over  the  boat  and  watched  her  move- 
ments for  nearly  half  a  mile.     She  would  keep 


88  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

just  ahead"  of  us,  sailing  backwards  and  forwards, 
now  striking  her  wings  on  the  water,  as  if  strug- 
gling with  all  her  strength  to  flj,  yet  unable  to 
rise,  and  now  screaming  out  as  if  distressed  to 
death  at  her  perilous  position,  yet  cunningly  mov- 
ing off  in  the  mean  time,  so  as  to  allure  us  after 
in  order  to  increase  the  distance  between  us  and 
her  offspring.  While  we  were  near  the  nest,  she 
swam  almost  under  our  bows;  but,  as  we  con- 
tinued to  advance,  she  grew  more  timorous,  as  if 
beginning  to  think  a  little  more  of  herself.  I 
could  not  blame  her  for  this,  for  she  had  hitherto 
kept  within  reach  of  certain  death  if  I  had  chosen 
to  firfe.  But  it  was  curious  to  see  in  what  exact 
proportion  her  care  for  herself  increased  as  the 
danger  to  her  offspring  lessened.  She  would  rise 
and  fiy  some  distance,  then  alight  in  the  water, 
and  wait  our  approach.  If  she  sailed  out  of  sight 
a  moment,  she  would  wheel  and  look  back,  and 
even  swim  back,  till  she  saw  us  following  after, 
when  she  would  move  off  again.  The  foolish  thing 
really  believed  she  was  outwitting  us,  and,  I  have 
no  doubt,  had  many  self-complacent  reflections  on 
the  ease  with  which  ducks  could  humbug  human 


A  DUCK  PROTECTINa  HER  YOUNG.      89 

beings.  After  we  had  proceeded  in  this  way 
about  half  a  mile,  she  rose  from  the  water,  and, 
striking  the  Rackett  River,  sped  back  by  a  cir- 
cular sweep  to  her  young.  As  her  form  disap- 
peared round  a  bend  of  the  stream,  I  could  not 
help  murmuring,  "Heaven  speed  thee,  anxious 
mother!"  Ah,  what  a  chattering  there  was  amid 
the  reeds  when  her  shadow  darkened  over  the 
hiding-place,  and  she  folded  her  wings  amid  her 
offspring,  and  listened  with  matronly  dignity  to 
the  story  each  one  had  to  tell! 

All  this,  however,  was  speedily  forgotten  as  we 
emerged  on  the  lake,  whose  bosom  was  swept  by 
a  strong  wind,  against  which  we  were  compelled 
to  force  our  tiny  skiffs  as  we  pulled  for  our  camp. 
It  was  now  nine  o'clock,  and  I  never  waited  with 
so  much  impatience  for  a  meal  as  I  did  for  the 
johnny-cake  that  was  slowly  roasting  amid  the 
ashes.  We  had  but  one  pan,  and  until  the  cake 
was  done  we  could  not  cook  our  trout,  and  so, 
stretched  under  the  shadow  of  a  huge  stump,  with 
my  chip-plate  in  my  hand,  I  lay  and  watched  the 
crackling  flames  with  all  the  philosophy  I  could 
muster.     At  length   everything  was  ready,  and 


90  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

"with  a  piece  of  jotnny-cake  on  a  chip,  and  a  trout 
on  top  of  that,  I  slashed  away  with  an  appetite  an 
epicure  would  give  a  small  fortune  to  possess. 
After  breakfast,  we  had  no  dishes  or  forks  to 
clean,  but,  throwing  them  both  away,  wiped  our 
knives  on  a  chip,  and  in  a  moment  were  ready  for 
a  start.  It  was  Saturday,  and  the  heavens,  which 
had  been  so  clear  the  night  before,  now  began  to 
gather  blackness,  and  the  burdened  wind  moaned 
through  the  forest,  or  went  sobbing  over  the  lake, 
that  was  every  moment  fretting  itself  into  greater 
excitement,  and  everything  betokened  a  gloomy 
and  tempestuous  day.  We  were  fourteen  miles 
from  a  human  habitation,  and  I  expected  that  day 
to  have  gone  thirty  miles  further  into  the  forest 
and  spent  the  Sabbath ;  but  the  storm  that  was 
approaching  made  the  shelter  of  a  log-cabin  seem 
too  inviting,  and  I  changed  my  mind.  To  row 
fourteen  miles  against  a  head  wind  and  sea  was 
no  child's  play,  and  for  one  I  resolved  not  to  do 
it.  So,  making  a  bargain  with  Mitchell,  the  In- 
dian, I  wrapped  my  oil-skin  cape  about  me,  and 
laying  my  rifle  across  my  lap,  ensconced  myself 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  made  up  my  mind  to 


SABBATH  IN  THE  FOREST.  91 

a  drencher.  The  black  clouds  came  rushing  over 
the  huge  black  mountains,  and  the  rain  begaa  to 
fall  in  torrents.  Now  hugging  the  shore  to  escape 
the  blast,  and  now  sailing  under  the  lee  of  an 
island,  we  crawled  along  until  at  length,  late  in 
the  afternoon,  we  found  ourselves  comfortably 
housed. 

The  log  hut  of  Mitchell,  in  which  I  spent  the 
Sabbath,  was  in  the  centre  of  two  or  three  acres 
of  cleared  land ;  all  the  rest  was  forest.  During 
the  day,  I  was  struck  with  the  sense  of  propriety 
and  delicacy  of  feeling  shown  by  him.  Sunday 
must  have  been  a  weary  day  to  him ;  yet  he  en- 
gaged in  no  sports,  performed  no  work,  that  I 
saw,  inappropriate  to  it.  In  the  afternoon,  how- 
ever, he  took  down  his  violin,  and  for  a  moment  I 
felt  pained,  expecting  such  music  as  would  dis- 
tress one  to  hear  on  the  Sabbath.  He,  however, 
refrained  from  all  those  tunes  I  knew  he  preferred, 
and  played  only  sacred  hymns,  most  of  them  Me- 
thodist ones.  I  could  not  imagine  where  he  had 
learned  them ;  but  this  silent  respect  to  my  feel- 
ings made  me  love  him  at  once,  and,  as  I  hummed 


92      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

them  over  with  him,  I  conceived  a  respect  for  him 
I  shall  never  lose. 

The  day  went  out  in  storms,  and,  as  I  lay  down 
that  night  on  my  rough  couch,  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve I  was  in  the  same  State  of  which  New  York 
was  the  capital,  whose  hundred  spires  pierced  the 
heavens. 

I  have  been  thus  particular,  and  mean  to  be  in 
future,  because  in  no  other  way  can  you  get  a 
correct  idea  of  the  daily  life  one  is  compelled  to 
lead  who  would  penetrate  these  untrodden  wilds 
of  the  Empire  State.  It  is  nonsense  to  talk  of 
dignity  and  the  impropriety  of  a  man's  carrying 
a  rifle  and  fishing  tackle,  and  spending  his  time 
in  shooting  deer  and  catching  trout.  Such  folly 
is  becoming  to  him  only  who  sits  on  the  piazza  of 
a  hotel  at  Saratoga  Springs  at  the  expense  of 
twelve  dollars  a  week  for  his  health.  I  love  na- 
ture and  all  things  as  God  has  made  them.  I 
love  the  freedom  of  the  wilderness  and  the  absence 
of  conventional  forms  there.  I  love  the  long 
stretch  through  the  forest  on  foot,  and  the  thrill- 
ing, glorious  prospect  from  some  hoary  mountain 
top.     I  feel  my  soul  lift  amid  such  scenes,  and 


SABBATH  IN  THE  FOREST.  93 

throw  off  the  chain  that  has  been  rusting  around 
it,  and  I  think  better  of  man  and  worse  of  his 
mad  chase  after  straws  and  baubles.  I  love  it, 
and  I  know  it  is  better  for  me  than  the  thronged 
city,  and  better  for  my  wasted  health  and  ex- 
hausted frame  than  "  all  the  poppies  and  madri- 
goras  of  the  world," 


LONG  LAKE  COLONY.  95 


LETTER   IX. 

LONG  LAKE  COLONY— A  LOON — CROTCHET  LAKE. 

Taking  Mitchell  with  me,  we  embarked  on 
Mondaj  in  his  bii'ch  bark  canoe  for  Crotchet  and 
Rackett  Lakes.  Paddling  leisurely  np  Long  Lake, 
I  was  struck  with  the  desolate  appearance  of  the 
settlement.  Scarcely  an  improvement  had  been 
made  since  I  was  last  here,  while  some  clearings 
had  been  left  to  go  back  to  their  original  wildness. 
Disappointed  purchasers,  lured  by  extravagant 
statements,  had  given  up  in  despondency,  and  left ; 
and  I  was  forcibly  reminded,  as  I  passed  along,  of 
a  remark  Dr.  Todd  made  me  last  summer.  Speak- 
ing of  his  Long  Lake  Colony,  I  mentioned  that 
its  prospects  were  rather  gloomy.  "  Yes,"  said  he ; 
"the  best  people  are  all  going  away;  in  a  short 
time,  there  will  be  nobody  left  but  hunters.     It 


96  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

won't  be  settled  for  a  century."  It  must  have  been 
with  extreme  regret  he  was  forced  to  come  to  this 
conclusion,  after  having  taken  so  much  interest  in 
it,  and  appealed  so  much  to  the  sympathy  of  the 
public,  and  obtained  so  much  money  only  to  be 
thrown  away.  "  It  won't  be  settled  for  a  cen- 
tury!"  Time  enough  yet,  then,  to  arouse  attention 
to  this  section  of  our  country.  I  have  no  doubt  his 
latter  conclusions  are  more  just  and  sound  than 
his  former  ones,  though  I  think  them  somewhat 
erroneous.  I  believe  this  wilderness  will  be  en- 
croached upon  in  less  time  than  that.  Perhaps 
sixty  or  seventy  years  will  be  sufficient  to  give  us 
so  crowded  a  population  as  to  force  settlements 
into  this  desolate  interior  of  the  State.  Still  I 
agree  with  him  that  the  prospects  are  gloomy. 
The  church,  too,  has  gone  down;  not  a  solitary 
conversion  from  all  the  labor  expended  here.  Still, 
this  was  to  be  expected.  A  church  formed  of  such 
materials  ought  to  go  to  pieces.  Even  the  last 
remaining  member,  certainly  not  the  most  enlight- 
ened or  circumspect  Christian  I  have  ever  met, 
told  me  that  it  was  no  more  than  he  expected — 


A  LOON.  97 

that  no  one  there  supposed  the  men  would  "  hold 
out." 

But  our  light  canoe  soon  left  the  last  clearing; 
and  curving  round  the  shore,  we  shot  into  the 
Rackett  or  E.acq[uette  River,  and  entered  the  bo- 
som of  the  forest.  As  vre  left  the  lake,  I  saw  a 
loon  some  distance  up  the  inlet,  evidently  anxious 
to  get  out  once  more  into  open  water.  These  birds 
(about  the  size  of  a  goose),  you  know,  cannot  rise 
from  the  water  except  by  a  long  effort  and  against 
a  strong  damp  wind,  and  depend  for  safety  on 
diving  and  swimming  under  water.  At  the  ap- 
proach of  danger,  they  go  under  like  a  duck,  and 
when  you  next  see  them,  they  are  perhaps  sixty 
rods  distant,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  your  bullet. 
If  cornered  in  a  small  body  of  water,  they  will 
sit  and  watch  your  motions  with  a  keenness  and 
certainty  that  are  wonderful,  and  dodge  the  flash 
of  a  percussion  lock  gun  all  day  long.  The  mo- 
ment they  see  the  blaze  from  the  muzzle  they  dive, 
and  the  bullet,  if  well  aimed,  will  strike  the  water 
exactly  where  they  sat.  I  have  shot  at  them  again 
and  again,  with  a  dead  rest,  and  those  watching 
would  see  the  ball  each  time  strike  directly  in  the 
9 


98      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

hollow  made  by  tlie  wake  of  the  water  above  the 
creature's  back.  There  is  no  killing  them  except 
by  firing  at  them  when  they  are  not  expecting  it, 
and  then  their  neck  and  head  are  the  only  vulner- 
able points.  They  sit  so  deep  in  the  water,  and 
the  quills  on  their  backs  are  so  hard  and  compact 
that  a  ball  seems  to  make  no  impression  on  them. 
At  least,  I  have  never  seen  one  killed  by  being 
shot  through  the  body.  Such  are  the  means  of 
self-preservation  possessed  by  this  curious  bird, 
whose  wild  and  shrill  and  lonely  cry  on  the  water 
at  midnight  is  one  of  the  most  melancholy  sounds 
I  ever  heard  in  the  forest. 

This  loon,  of  which  I  was  just  now  speaking,  I 
wished  very  much  to  kill,  in  order  to  carry  his 
skin  to  New  York  with  me,  and  so,  after  firing 
at  him  in  vain,  I  asked  Mitchell  if  we  could  not, 
both  of  us  together,  manage  to  take  him.  He 
told  me  to  land  him  where  the  channel  was  nar- 
row that  entered  Long  Lake,  and  paddle  along 
towards  where  the  loon  was,  and  drive  him  out. 
As  I  approached  him,  he  dived,  and,  knowing  that 
he  would  make  straight  for  the  lake,  I  watched 
the  whole  line  of  his  progress  with  the  utmost 


A  LOON.  99 

care;  but,  thougli  my  range  took  in  nearly  the 
third  of  a  mile,  I  never  saw  him  again.  After  a 
while,  I  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle  around  the 
bend  of  the  shore,  and  hastening  there,  I  found 
Mitchell  loading  his  gun.  He  said  the  loon  just 
raised  his  head  above  water,  opposite  where  he 
stood,  but  he  missed  him,  and  the  frightened  bird 
did  not  appear  again  till  it  rose  far  out  in  the 
lake. 

I  mention  this  circumstance  merely  to  show 
the  habits  of  this,  to  me,  most  singular  bird  of  our 
northern  waters.  I  forgot  to  say  that,  although 
it  cannot  rise  from  the  water  except  with  great 
difficulty,  and  never  attempts  to  escape  danger 
neither  can  it  walk  on  the  shore.  Diving  is 
about  the  only  gift  it  possesses,  which  it  uses,  I 
must  say,  with  great  ability  and  success. 

Paddling  up  Racket  River,  we  at  length  came 
to  Buttermilk  Falls,  around  which  vv^e  were  com- 
pelled to  carry  our  caiK)es.  So  in  another  place 
we  were  compelled  to  carry  them  two  miles, 
around  rapids,  through  the  woods.  Nothing  can 
be  more  comical  and  out  of  the  way  than  a  party 
thus  passing  through  the  forest.     First,  a  yoke 


100     LETTERS  FEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

is  placed  across  tlie  guide's  neck,  on  which  the 
boat  is  placed  bottom  side  up,  covering  the  poor 
fellow  down  to  the  shoulders,  and  sticking  out 
fore  and  aft  over  the  biped  below  in  such  a  way 
as  to  make  him  appear  half- human,  half-super- 
natural, or  rather  it^i-natural.  But  it  was  no 
joke  to  me  to  carry  my  part  of  the  freight.  Two 
rifles,  one  overcoat,  one  tea-pot,  one  lantern,  one 
basin,  and  a  piece  of  pork,  were  my  portion. 
Sometimes  I  had  a  change,  namely,  two  oars  and 
a  paddle,  balanced  by  a  tin  pail,  in  place  of  a 
rifle.  Thus  equipped,  I  would  press  on  for  a 
while,  and  then  stop  to  see  the  procession — each 
poor  fellow  staggering  under  the  weight  he  bore, 
while  in  the  long  intervals  appeared  the  two  in- 
verted boats,  walking  through  the  woods  on  two 
human  legs  in  the  most  surprising  manner  imagi- 
nable. Though  tired  and  fagged  out,  I  could 
not  refrain  from  frequent'  outbursts  of  laughter 
that  made  the  forest  ring  again.  But  there  was 
no  other  way  of  getting  along,  and  each  one  had 
to  become  a  beast  of  burden.  It  was  a  relief  to 
launch  again;  and  when  at  last  we  struck  the 
river  just   after   it   leaves    Crotchet   Lake,   and 


CROTCHET  LAKE.  101 

gazed  on  the  beautiful  sheet  of  water  that  was 
rolling  and  sparkling  in  the  sunlight  ahead,  an 
involuntary  shout  burst  from  the  party.  A  flock 
of  wild  ducks,  scared  at  the  sound,  made  the 
water  foam  as  they  rose  at  our  feet  and  sped 
away.  Stemming  the  rapid  waters  with  our  light 
prows,  we  were  soon  afloat  on  the  bosom  of  the 
lake.  The  wind  was  blowing  directly  in  our 
teeth,  making  the  miniature  waves  leap  and 
dance  around  us  as  if  welcoming  us  to  their 
home.  A  white  gull  rose  from  a  rock  at  our  side 
— a  fish-hawk  screamed  around  her  huge  nest  on 
a  lofty  pine-tree  on  the  shore,  as  she  wheeled 
and  circled  above  her  offspring — a  raven  croaked 
overhead— the  cry  of  loons  arose  in  the  distance 
— and  all  was  wild  yet  beautiful.  The  sun  was 
stooping  to  his  glorious  bed  amid  the  purple 
mountains,  whose  sea  of  summits  was  calmly 
sleeping  against  the  golden  heavens — the  cool 
breeze  stirred  a  world  of  foliage  on  our  right — 
green  islands,  beautiful  as  Elysian  fields,  rose 
out  of  the  water  as  we  advanced — the  sparkling 
waves  rolled  merrily  under  as  bright  a  sky  as 
ever  bent  over  the  earth — and  for  a  moment  I 
9* 


102     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

seemed  to  have  been  transported  into  a  new 
world.  I  never  was  more  struck  hj  a  scene  in 
my  life.  Its  utter  wildness,  spread  out  there 
where  the  axe  of  civilization  has  never  struck  a 
blow — the  evening — the  sunset — the  deep  purple 
of  the  mountains — the  silence  and  solitude  of  the 
shores,  and  the  cry  of  birds  in  the  distance,  com- 
bined to  r:n  er  it  one  of  enchantment  to  me. 
My  feelings  were  more  excited,  perhaps,  by  the 
consciousness  that  we  were  without  any  definite 
object  before  us — no  place  of  rest,  but  sailing 
along  looking  out  for  some  good  point  of  land  on 
which  to  pitch  our  camp. 

Mitchell  made  no  replies  to  our  inquiries,  but 
kept  paddling  along  among  the  lily  pads  until  he 
made  for  a  point  near  the  Eackett  Eiver,  and 
mooring  our  boats  to  the  shore,  began  to  prepare 
for  the  night. 


SHOOTING  A  DEEK.  103 


LETTER    X. 

SHOOTING  A  DEER — SUPPER  IN  THE  WOODS—- 
MODERN  SENTIMENTALISTS — THE  INFLUENCE  OF 
NATURE. 

After  we  had  pitched  (not  our  tent,  but)  our 
shanty,  we  began  to  cast  about  for  supper.  I 
told  Mitchell  I  could  not  think  of  eating  a  piece 
of  salt  pork  for  supper,  and  we  must  get  some 
trout.  So,  rigging  our  lines  on  poles  we  cut  on 
the  shores  of  the  lake,  and  taking  our  rifles  with 
us,  we  jumped  into  our  bark  canoe,  and  pushed 
for  some  rapids  in  the  Rackett  River,  where  it 
entered  Crotchett  Lake,  As  we  were  paddling 
carefully  along  the  edge  of  a  marsh  that  put  out 
into  the  water,  Mitchell,  who  was  at  the  stern, 
suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Hist !  I  see  the  head  of 
a    deer    coming    down    to   feed.''     I   sometimes 


104  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

thought  he  could  smell  a  deer,  for  he  would  often 
say  he  saw  one  before  both  its  ears  had  fairly 
emerged  from  the  bushes.  "  Shoot  him,''  said  he 
tome.  "I  can't,"  I  replied;  "  I  am  too  tired  : 
shoot  him  yourself.''  So,  stooping  my  head  to 
let  the  ball  pass  over  me,  I  watched  him  as  he 
took  aim ;  and  it  was  a  sight  worth  seeing.  The 
careless,  indolent  manner  so  natural  to  him  had 
disappeared  as  if  by  magic,  and  he  stood  up  in 
the  stern  of  the  boat  as  straight  as  his  own  rifle, 
while  his  dark  eye  glanced  like  an  eagle's. 
Every  nerve  in  him  seemed  to  have  been  sud- 
denly touched  by  an  electric  spark,  and  as  he 
now  stooped  to  elude  the  watchfulness  of  the 
deer,  and  now  again  stood  erect  with  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder,  he  was  one  of  the  most  pictur- 
esque objects  I  ever  saw.  The  timorous  animal 
was  feeding  on  the  marsh,  and  ever  and  anon 
lifted  her  head  as  if  she  scented  danger  in  the 
air.  Then  Mitchell's  would  drop  like  a  flash, 
and  gently  lift  again  as  the  deer  returned  to  her 
feed.  She  was  about  twenty  rods  off,  and  now 
stood  fairly  exposed  amid  the  grass.  It  was  a 
long    shot    for    arm's    length,    and    a    tottlish 


SHOOTING  A  DEER.  105 

boat  to  stand  in,  but  he  resolved  to  try  it. 
Slowly  bringing  his  rifle  to  his  face,  he  stood  for 
a  moment  as  motionless  as  a  pillar  of  marble, 
while  his  gun  seemed  suddenly  to  have  frozen  in 
its  place,  so  still  and  study  did  it  lie  in  his 
bronze  hand.  A  flash — a  quick  sharp  report, 
and  the  noble  deer  bounded  several  feet  into  the 
air,  then  wheeled  and  sprang  into  the  forest. 
He  had  shot  directly  over  my  head,  and  the  mad 
bound  of  the  animal  told  too  well  that  the  unerr- 
ing bullet  had  struck  near  the  life.  Rowing 
hastily  to  the  spot,  we  could  find  no  traces  of  the 
deer;  but  Mitchell,  with  his  eye  bent  on  the 
ground,  paced  backward  and  forward  without 
saying  a  word.  At  length  he  stopped,  and,  peer- 
ing down  amid  the  long  grass,  said,  "  Here  is 
blood.''  How  he  discovered  it  is  a  perfect 
mystery  to  me,  for  the  grass  was  a  foot  long  and 
very  thick,  while  the  blood  spot  was  but  a  drop 
which  had  fallen  on  the  roots  of  a  single  blade. 
I  never  should  have  noticed  it,  and  if  I  had, 
should  have  considered  it  a  mere  discoloration  of 
the  leaf,  fac-similes  of  which  occurred  at  every 
step.     The  keen  hawk  eye  of  the  Indian  hunter. 


106  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

however,  could  not  be  deceived,  and  he  simply 
remarked,  "  He  is  hit  deep  or  he  would  have  bled 
freer,"  "and  struck  on  the  trail.  But  this  baffled 
even  the  Indian,  for  the  marsh  was  covered  with 
deer  tracks,  and  the  bushes  into  which  the 
wounded  one  had  sprung  were  a  perfect  matting 
of  laurels  and  low  shrubs.  There  was  no  more 
blood  to  be  found,  and  we  were  perfectly  at  fault 
in  our  search.  At  length,  tired  and  disappointed, 
I  returned  to  the  boat  and  "stood  waiting  the  re- 
turn of  Mitchell,  when  the  sharp  crack  of  his 
rifle  again  rang  through  the  forest,  followed  soon 
after  by  a  shrill  whistle.  I  knew  then  that  a  deer 
had  fallen,  and  hastened  to  the  spot.  There  lay 
the  beautiful  creature  stretched  on  the  moss, 
with  the  life-blood  welling  from  her  throat,  and 
over  the  body,  watching,  stood  Mitchell  leaning 
on  his  rifle.  Unable  to  find  the  trail,  he  had 
made  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  the  course  the  animal 
had  taken,  and,  making  a  circuit,  finally  came 
upon  her,  lain  down  to  die.  At  his  approach, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  ran  a  few  rods,  fell  again 
exhausted,   when   the   deadly   aim   of    Mitchell 


SUPPER  IN  THE  WOODS.  107 

planted  a  bullet  directly  back  of  her  ear,  and  her 
career  was  ended. 

Satisfied  with  our  game,  we  gave  up  our  fishing, 
and,  dragging  the  body  to  the  boat,  put  back  to 
our  camp.  The  rest  of  our  company  stood  on 
the  shore  waiting  our  return.  They  had  heard 
the  shots,  and  were  expecting  the  spoils.  Some, 
no  doubt,  will  think  this  very  cruel,  and  congratu- 
late themselves  on  their  kinder  natures.  I  have 
seen  such  people,  and  heard  them  expend  whole 
sentences  of  sentimentality  upon  the  hardheart- 
edness  that  could  take  the  life  of  such  an  innocent 
creature,  who  very  coolly  wrung  the  necks  of 
chickens  every  night  for  their  breakfast,  and  de- 
voured with  great  gusto  the  shoulder  of  a  lamb 
for  dinner.  They  slay  without  remorse  the  most 
harmless,  trusting  creatures  that  haunt  their  mea- 
dows, or  sport  upon  their  lawns,  and  take  food 
from  their  hands,  and  yet  are  shocked  at  the  idea 
of  killing  a  deer  or  shooting  a  wild  pigeon.  They 
kill  God's  creatures,  not  from  necessity,  but  to 
gratify  their  palates  and  minister  to  their  luxuri- 
ous tastes.  But  if  any  one  supposes  we  shot  this 
noble  doe  for  sport,  he  must  have  a  very  vague 


108     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

idea  of  the  toils  we  had  endured  that  day,  or  of 
our  keen  appetites.  A  man  of  great  sentimentality 
might  eat  boiled  eggs  and  toast  with  his  coffee  for 
breakfast,  rather  than  sanction  the  death  of  an 
animal  by  partaking  of  flesh.  I  say  he  miglit  do 
it,  though  I  have  never  seen  an  instance  of  such 
great  self-denial ;  but  I  doubt  whether,  if  he  were 
a  day's  journey  from  a  human  habitation,  hungry 
and  tired,  with  the  prospect  of  nothing  but  a  piece 
of  salt  pork,  toasted  on  the  end  of  a  stick  for 
supper  and  breakfast,  he  would  hesitate  to  eat  a 
venison  steak.  But  I  like  to  have  forgotten.  The 
pork,  too,  was  the  flesh  of  an  animal,  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  convince  a  hog  that  he  had  not  as 
good  a  right  to  life  as  a  deer.  At  all  events,  we 
enjoyed  the  venison,  though  perhaps  the  senti- 
mentalist might  say  we  were  punished  in  the  end, 
for  it  made  us  all  outrageously  sick.  We  either 
cooked  it  too  soon  (for  in  twenty  minutes  from 
the  time  the  deer  fell,  a  part  of  her  was  roasting) ; 
or  we  ate  it  too  rare  (for  we  were  too  hungry  to 
wait  till  it  was  perfectly  done) ;  or  we  ate  too 
much  (for  we  were  hungry  as  famished  wolves) ; 


MODERN  SENTIMENTALISTS.  109 

or  probably  did  all  three  things  together,  which 
quite  upset  me. 

But  after  the  things  (^.  e.  the  chips)  were 
cleared  away,  I  stretched  myself  on  the  ground 
under  a  tree  whose  dark  trunk  shone  in  the  light 
of  the  cheerful  fire,  and  began  to  muse  on  the 
day  that  had  passed.  How  is  it  that  a  scene  of 
quiet  beauty  makes  so  much  deeper  an  impression 
than  a  startling  one  ?  The  glorious  sunset  I  had 
witnessed  on  that  sweet  lake — the  curving  and 
forest-mantled  shores— the  green  islands — the 
mellow  mountains,  all  combined  to  make  a  scene 
of  surpassing  loveliness ;  and  now,  as  I  lay  and 
watched  the  stars  coming  out  one  after  another,* 
and  twinkling  down  on  me  through  the  tree  tops, 
all  that  beauty  came  back  on  me  with  strange 
power.  The  gloomy  gorge  and  savage  precipice, 
or  the  sudden  storm,  seem  to  excite  the  surface 
only  of  one's  feelings,  while  the  sweet  vale,  with 
its  cottages  and  herds  and  evening  bells,  blends 
itself  with  our  very  thoughts  and  emotions,  form- 
ing a  part  of  our  after  existence.  Such  a  scene 
sinks  away  into  the  heart  like  a  gentle  rain  into 
the  earth,  while  a  rougher,  nay^  sublimer  one, 
10 


110  LETTEES  EEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

comes  and  goes  like  a  sudden  shower,  I  do  not 
know  how  it  is  that  the  gentler  influence  should 
be  the  deeper  and  more  lasting,  but  so  it  is.  The 
still  small  voice  of  nature  is  more  impressive  than 
her  loudest  thunder.  Of  all  the  scenery  in  the 
Alps,  and  there  is  no  grander  on  the  earth, 
nothing  is  so  plainly  daguerreotyped  on  my  heart 
as  two  or  three  lovely  valleys  I  saw.  Those 
heaven-piercing  summits,  and  precipices  of  ice, 
and  awfully  savage  gorges,  and  fearful  passes, 
are  like  a  grand  but  indistinct  vision  on  my 
memory ;  while  those  vales,  with  their  carpets  of 
green  sward,  and  gentle  rivulets,  and  perfect 
repose,  have  become  a  part  of  my  life.  In 
moments  of  high  excitement  or  turbulent  grief, 
they  rise  before  me  with  their  gentle  aspect  and 
quiet  beauty,  hushing  the  storm  into  repose,  and 
subduing  the  spirit  like  a  sensible  presence.  Oh, 
how  I  love  nature !  She  has  ten  thousand  voices 
even  in  her  silence,  and  in  all  her  changes  goes 
only  from  beauty  to  beauty.  And  when  she 
speaks  aloud,  and  the  music  of  running  waters — 
the  organ  note  of  the  wind  amid  the  pine-tree 
tops— the  rippling  of  waves— -the  song  of  birds, 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  NATURE,  111 

and  the  hum  of  insects,  fall  on  the  ear,  soul  and 
sense  are  ravished.  How  is  it  that  even  good 
men  have  come  to  think  so  little  of  nature,  as  if 
to  love  her  and  seek  her  haunts  and  companion- 
ship were  a  waste  of  time  ?  I  have  been  as- 
tonished at  the  remarks  sometimes  made  to  me 
on  my  long  jaunts  in  the  woods,  as  if  it  were 
almost  wicked  to  cast  off  the  gravity  of  one's 
profession,  and  wander  like  a  child  amid  the 
beauty  which  God  has  spread  out  with  such  a 
lavish  hand  over  the  earth.  Why,  I  should  as 
soon  think  of  feeling  reproved  for  gazing  on  the 
midnight  heavens  gorgeous  with  stars,  and  fear- 
ful with  its  mysterious  floating  worlds.  I  believe 
that  every  man  degenerates  without  frequent 
communion  with  nature.  It  is  one  of  the  open 
books  of  God,  and  more  replete  with  instruction 
than  anything  ever  penned  by  man.  A  single 
tree  standing  alone,  and  waving  all  day  long  its 
green  crown  in  the  summer  wind,  is  to  me  fuller 
of  meaning  and  instruction  than  the  crowded 
mart  or  gorgeously-built  city. 

But   Mitchell   has    arisen    from    his    couch   of 
leaves,  where  he  has  been  reclining  silent   and 


112      LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

thoughtful  as  his  race,  and  is  looking  up  to  the 
sky  and  out  upon  the  lake,  and  I  know  some- 
thing is  afoot. 


FLOATING  DEER.  113 


LETTER  XI. 

FLOATING  DEER— A  NIGHT   EXCURSION — MORNING 
IN  THE  WOODS. 

As  I  said  in  my  last,  Mitchell  looked  up  to  the 
sky  and  out  upon  the  lake  a  moment,  and  then, 
in  that  quiet  way  so  characteristic  of  his  race, 
said,  "  If  you  want  to  go  after  a  deer,  it  is  time 
we  started."  It  took  but  five  minutes  to  load  my 
rifle,  put  on  my  overcoat,  and  announce  myself 
ready.  Lifting  our  bark  canoe  softly  from  the 
rocks,  we  launched  it  on  the  still  water,  and,  step- 
ping carefully  in,  pushed  off.  Previously,  how- 
ever, Mitchell  requested  me  to  try  one  of  my 
matches,  to  see  if  the  damp  had  effected  them. 

You  know  that  deer-floating  amid  backwoods- 
men is  very  like  deer-stalking  in  Scotland.  In 
the  warm  summer  months,  especially  in  June,  the 
10* 


114  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

deer  come  down  from  the  mountains  at  night  to 
feed  on  the  marshes  that  line  the  shores  of  the 
lakes  and  rivers.  While  thej  are  thus  feeding,  if 
you  pass  along  without  making  a  noise,  you  can 
hear  them  as  they  step  about  in  the  edge  of  the 
water,  or  snort  as  they  scent  approaching  danger. 
The  moment  you  become  aware  of  the  proximity 
of  one,  strike  a  light  and  fix  it  firmly  in  the  bow 
of  your  boat,  or  in  a  lantern  on  your  head,  and 
advance  cautiously.  The  deer,  attracted  by  the 
flame,  stops  and  gazes  intently  upon  it.  If  he 
hears  no  sound,  he  will  not  stir  till  you  advance 
close  to  him.  At  first,  you  catch  only  the  sight 
of  his  two  eyes,  burning  like  fireballs  in  the  gloom ; 
but  as  you  approach  nearer,  the  light  is  thrown 
on  his  red  flanks,  and  he  stands  revealed  in  all  his 
beautiful  proportions  before  you.  The  candle 
serves,  at  the  same  time,  to  distinguish  the  ani- 
mal, and  give  you  a  clear  view  of  the  sights  along 
your  gun-barrel ;  and  he  must  be  a  poor  shot  who 
misses  at  five  rods  distance.  The  night  must  be 
dark  and  still,  and  no  moon  rise  over  the  water. 
This  night,  the  only  spot  good  for  deer  had 
been  so  trampled  over  by  us,  before  dark,  that 


FLOATING  DEER,  115 

they  would  not  come  out  upon  it,  and  we  floated 
on  for  a  long  time  without  hearing  anything.  I 
never  before  saw  such  an  exhibition  of  the  stealthy 
movements  of  an  Indian.  The  lake  was  as  still 
and  smooth  as  a  polished  mirror,  and  our  frail 
canoe  floated  over  it  as  if  impelled  by  an  invisible 
hand.  I  knelt  at  the  bow  with  my  rifle  before 
me,  while  Mitchell  sat  in  the  stern  as  still  as  a 
statue,  yet  urging  the  boat  on  by  some  strange 
movement  of  the  paddle,  which  I  tried  in  vain  to 
comprehend.  He  did  not  even  make  a  ripple  on 
the  water,  and  I  could  tell  we  were  moving  only 
by  marking  the  shadow  of  trees  we  crossed,  or  the 
stars  we  passed  over.  Though  straining  every 
nerve  to  catch  a  sound,  I  never  once  heard  the 
stroke  of  his  paddle.  It  was  the  most  mysterious 
ride  I  ever  took.  We  entered  the  mouth  of  a 
river  whose  shores  were  dark  with  the  sombre  fir- 
trees,  while  ever  and  anon  would  come  more  clearly 
on  the  ear  the  roar  of  a  distant  waterfall.  It  was 
so  dark  I  could  make  out  nothing  distinctly  on 
shore ;  and  the  island-like  tufts  that  here  and 
there  rose  from  the  water,  the  little  bays  and 
rocky  points  we  passed,  assumed  the  most  gro- 


116  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

tesque  shapes  to  my  fancy,  till  I  had  all  the  feel- 
ings of  one  suddenly  transported  to  a  fairy  land. 
Now  the  silent  boat  would  cross  the  shadow  of  a 
lofty  pine-tree  th9.t  lay  dark  and  calm  in  the 
water  below,  and  now  sail  over  a  bright  constella- 
tion that  sparkled  in  our  path ;  while  the  scream 
of  a  far-off  loon  came  ringing  like  a  spirit's  cry 
through  the  gloom.  Oh,  how  bright  lay  the  sky, 
with  its  sapphire  floor  beneath  us  !  and  how  black 
was  the  fringo  of  shadow  that  encroached  on  its 
beauty,  and  yet  added  to  it  by  contrast !  The 
silent  night  around  me,  the  strangeness  of  the 
place,  and  the  far  removal  from  human  habita- 
tions, were  enough  in  themselves ;  but  the  dim, 
impalpa.ble  objects  on  shore,  just  distinct  enough 
to  confuse  the  senses,  added  tenfold  mystery  to 
the  scene.  I  seemed  moving  through  a  boundless 
world  of  shadows,  with  nothing  clear  and  natural 
but  the  bright  constellations  below  me. 

Thus  we  passed  on  for  a  mile,  without  a  whis- 
per or  sign  having  passed  between  us.  At  length 
the  canoe  entered  what  seemed  at  first  a  deep  bay, 
but  soon  changed  to  the  mouth  of  a  gloomy  ca- 
vern.    I  leaned  forward,  striving  in  vain  to  make 


A  NIGHT  EXCURSION.  117 

out  the  misshapen  objects  before  me  ;  but  the  more 
I  looked,  the  more  confused  I  grew,  while,  to  add 
to  my  bewilderment,  suddenly  the  dim  outlines  I 
was  struggling  to  make  out  began  to  vanish,  as  if 
melting  away  in  the  darkness.  At  first,  I  thought 
the  whole  had  been  a  structure  of  mist,  and  was 
dissolving  in  my  sight;  but,  casting  my  eyes 
beneath  me,  I  saw  we  were  receding  over  the  stars. 
Then  I  understood  it  all.  Mitchell,  without 
making  a  sound,  had  drawn  the  boat  slowly  back- 
wards, causing  the  objects  before  me  to  fade  thus 
strangely  from  my  sight.  He  knew  the  ground 
perfectly  well,  and  could  enter  every  bay  and  in- 
let as  accurately  as  in  broad  daylight. 

Pursuing  our  way  up  the  channel,  I  was  at 
length  startled  by  a  low  ^^hist!"  The  next  mo- 
ment I  heard  the  tread  of  a  deer  on  the  shore, 
and  the  light  canoe  darted  through  the  water  till 
I  could  hear  the  low  ripple  of  the  water  around 
the  bow.  "Light  up  !"  said  Mitchell,  in  a  whis- 
per. As  quietly  as  possible,  I  kindled  a  match, 
and  lighting  a  candle,  put  it  in  a  lantern  made  to 
fit  the  head  like  a  hat,  and  clapping  it  in  the 
place  of  my  cap,  cocked  my  rifle  and  leaned  for- 


118     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

ward.  The  bright  flame  flared  out  upon  the  sur- 
rounding gloom,  and  all  was  hush  as  death.  But 
as  we  advanced  towards  where  the  deer  was  stand- 
ing, the  boat  suddenly  struck  the  dry  limbs  of  a 
spruce-tree  that  had  fallen  in  the  water.  Snap, 
snap  went  the  brittle  twigs,  one  of  them  piercing 
our  bark  canoe.  We  backed  out  of  the  dilemma 
as  quick  as  possible ;  but  the  sound  had  alarmed 
the  deer,  and  I  could  hear  his  long  bounds  as  he 
cleared  the  bank  and  made  off  into  the  forest. 

After  cruising  about  a  little  while  longer,  we 
put  back  and  crossed  the  lake  to  a  deep  bay  on 
the  farther  side.  But  the  moon  now  began  to 
show  her  silver  disk  over  the  fir-trees,  and  our 
last  remaining  chance  was  to  find  a  deer  in  the 
bay  before  the  silver  orb  should  climb  the  lofty 
pines  that  folded  it  in.  But  in  this,  too,  we  were 
disappointed  ;  and,  the  unclouded  light  now  flood- 
ing lake  and  forest,  we  turned  wearily  towards 
our  camp-fire,  that  was  blazing  cheerfully  amid 
the  trees  on  the  farther  shore.  Just  then  a  merry 
laugh  came  floating  over  the  water  from  our  com- 
panions there,  breaking  the  silence  which  had  en- 
chained us,  and  for  the  first  time  we  spoke.     My 


A  NIGHT  EXCUKSION.  119 

limbs  were  almost  paralyzed,  from  having  been 
kept  so  long  in  one  position,  and  I  was  sick  and 
weary.  Still  I  would  not  have  missed  that  mys- 
terious boat  ride,  and  the  strange  sensations  it 
had  awakened,  to  have  been  saved  from  thrice  the 
inconvenience  it  had  occasioned  me.  It  was  one 
of  those  new  things  in  this  stereotyped  life  of  ours, 
imparting  new  experiences,  and  giving  one,  as  it 
were,  a  deeper  insight  into  his  own  soul. 

At  length  we  stretched  ourselves  upon  the 
boughs,  and  were  soon  fast  asleep.  I  awoke,  how- 
ever, about  midnight,  and  found  our  fire  reduced 
to  a  few  embers,  while  the  rain  was  coming  down 
as  if  that  were  its  sole  business  for  the  night.  It 
is  gloomy  in  the  woods  without  a  fire ;  and  I  never 
seem  so  companionless  as  when  in  the  still  mid- 
night I  awake  and  find  nothing  but  the  dark  forest 
about  me,  cheered  by  no  light.  A  bright  crack- 
ling flame  seems  like  a  living  thing,  keeping 
awake  on  purpose  to  watch  over  you. 

Leaving  my  companions,  whose  heavy  breath- 
ings told  how  profound-  were  their  slumbers,  I 
sallied  out  in  search  of  fuel.  But  there  was  no- 
thing but  green  fir-trees,  that  would  not  burn,  to  be 


120     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

found;  and,  after  striking  mj  axe  into  several, 
and  getting  mj  lower  extremities  thoroughly  wet, 
I  returned  and  lay  down  again,  and  slept  till 
morning.  With  the  first  dawn,  I  was  up,  and, 
taking  the  Indian's  canoe,  pushed  off  in  search 
of  a  deer.  The  heavy  fog  lay  in  masses  upon  the 
water,  and  the  damp  morning  was  still  and  quiet 
as  the  night  that  had  passed.  I  floated  about 
till  the  sun  rose  over  the  mountains,  turning  the 
lake  into  a  sheet  of  gold,  and  sending  the  mist  in 
spiral  wreaths  skyward,  and  then  slowly  paddled 
my  way  back  to  camp.  As  I  was  thus  floating 
tranquilly  along  over  the  water,  I  heard,  far  up 
the  lake,  where  it  lost  itself  in  the  mountains,  two 
distinct  and  heavy  reports  like  the  discharge  of 
firearms.  Who  could  be  in  that  solitude  besides 
ourselves  ?  was  the  first  inquiry.  I  mentioned 
the  circumstance  when  I  reached  the  camp,  and 
found  that  my  companions,  who  had  been  busy 
in  preparing  breakfast,  had  also  heard  the  re- 
ports. Mitchell,  just  then  returning  fram  an  ex- 
pedition after  a  fish-hawk,  which  he  brought  back 
with  him,  heard  them  also,  and  very  quietly  re- 
marked they  were  not  rifle  shots.     His  quick  ear 


MORNING  IN  THE  WOODS.        121 

never  deceived  him.  "What,  then,  were  they?" 
I  inquired.  "  Trees,"  he  replied.  "But,"  said 
I,  "there  is  not  a  breath  of  air  this  morning, 
while  it  blew  very  hard  yesterday  afternoon." 
"  They  always  fall,"  he  replied,  "before  a  storm. 
It  will  storm  by  to-morrow."  There  was  some- 
thing sad  in  thinking  of  those  two  trees  thus 
falling  all  alone  on  a  still  and  beautiful  morning, 
foretelling  a  coming  tempest.  Sombre  omens 
these,  and  mysterious,  as  becomes  the  untrodden 
forest. 

Mitchell  had  shot  an  immense  fish-hawk,  break- 
ing only  the  tip  of  its  wing,  so  as  to  prevent  it 
from  flying.  He  brought  it  and  set  it  down 
before  the  fire,  when  the  fearless  bird  drew  him- 
self proudly  up  and  steadily  faced  us  down, 
without  attempting  to  run  away.  His  savage 
eye  betokened  no  fear,  and,  when  any  one  of  us 
approached  him,  his  leg  would  be  lifted  and  his 
talons  expanded  ready  to  strike.  I  was  never  so 
struck  with  the  boldness  of  a  bird  in  my  life.  At 
length  Mitchell  caught  him  and  placed  him  on  a 
rock  by  the  edge  of  the  lake.  For  a  moment,  the 
noble  bird  forgot  his  wound,  and,  spreading  his 
11 


122  LETTERS  PROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

broad  wings,  leaped  from  his  resting-place.  But 
the  broken  pinion  refused  to  carry  him  heaven- 
ward, and  he  fell  heavily  in  the  water.  I  saw 
Mitchell  bring  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and  the 
next  moment  a  bullet  crushed  through  the  head 
of  the  poor  creature,  and  its  sufferings  were  over. 
Such  are  the  incidents  of  a  life  in  the  woods, 
and  thus  do  the  days  and  nights  pass — not  with- 
out meaning  or  instruction.  Not  merely  the 
physical  man  is  strengthened,  but  the  intellectual 
also,  by  these  long  furloughs  from  close  appli- 
cation, and  this  intimate  companionship  with 
nature.  A  man  cannot  move  in  the  forest  with- 
out thinking  of  God,  for  all  that  meets  his  eye  is 
jusfc  as  it  left  his  mighty  hand.  The  old  forest, 
as  it  nods  to  the  passing  wind,  speaks  of  him; 
the  still  mountain  points  towards  his  dwelling- 
place,  and  the  calm  lake  reflects  his  sky  of  stars 
and  sunshine.  The  glorious  sunset  and  the  blush- 
ing dawn,  the  gorgeous  midnight  and  the  noon- 
day splendor,  mean  more  in  these  solitudes  than 
in  the  crowded  city.  Indeed,  they  look  differ- 
ently— they  are  different. 


LOST  IN  THE  WOODS.  123 


LETTER    XII. 

LOST  IN  THE  WOODS — AN  OLD  INDIAN  AND  HIS 
DAUGHTER — MITCHELL  —  THE  ADIRONDAC  IRON 
WORKS. 

In  the  Woods,  August. 
It  was  with  weary  forms  and  subdued  hearts 
we  turned  the  prows  of  our  boats  down  the  lake, 
and  left  the  place  of  our  encampment,  probably 
for  ever.  No  one  who  has  not  traveled  in  the 
woods  can  appreciate  the  feelings  of  regret  with 
which  one  leaves  the  spot  where  he  has  pitched 
his  tent  only  for  a  single  day  or  night.  The 
half-extinguished  firebrands  scattered  around,  the 
broken  sticks  that  for  the  time  seemed  valuable 
as  silver  forks,  and  the  deserted  shanty,  all  have 
a  desolate  appearance,  and  it  seems  like  forsaking 
trusty  friends  to  leave  them  there  in  the  forest 
alone. 


124  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

The  morning  was  sombre  and  the  wind  fresh  as 
we  pulled  down  the  lake  and  again  entered  the 
narrow  river  that  pierced  so  adventurously  the 
dark  bosom  of  the  forest.  The  fatiguing  task  of 
carrying  our  boats  was  performed  over  again, 
with  the  additional  burden  of  the  deer  we  had 
but  partially  consumed.  At  one  carrying-place, 
P.  took  two  rifles  and  an  overcoat  as  his  part  of 
the  freight,  and  started  off  in  advance.  We  were 
each  of  us  too  much  engaged  with  our  own  affairs 
to  notice  the  direction  he  took,  but  supposing,  of 
course,  he  was  ahead,  pushed  on.  But  as  we 
came  to  the  next  launching-place,  he  was  no- 
where to  be  found.  "  He  has  gone  on,  I  guess,'* 
said  one,  "to  the  next  carrying-place."  We 
shouted,  but  the  echo  of  our  own  voices  was  the 
only  reply  the  boundless  forest  sent  back,  and 
one  was  dispatched  ahead  to  ascertain  whether 
our  conjecture  was  true.  The  report  was  soon 
brought  back  that  P.  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
I,  by  this  time,  began  to  feel  somewhat  alarmed, 
for  the  lost  one  was  my  brother ;  and,  taking 
Mitchell  with  me,  hastened  back  towards  the  spot 
where  he  had  parted  from  us.     I  shouted  aloudj 


LOST  IN  THE  WOODS.  125 

but  the  deep  waterfall  drowned  my  voice,  and  its 
sullen  roar  seemed  mocking  my  anxious  halloo. 
I  then  fired  my  rifle,  but  the  sharp  report  was 
followed  only  by  its  own  echo,  Mitchell  then  dis- 
charged hisj  and,  after  waiting  anxiously  awhile, 
we  heard  a  shot  far  up  the  river.  Soon  after, 
"bang — bang"  went  two  more  guns  in  the  same 
direction.  The  poor  fellow  had  heard  our  shot, 
and,  fearing  we  might  not  hear  his  in  return  and 
so  take  a  wrong  direction,  just  stood  and  loaded 
and  fired  as  fast  as  he  could.  When  we  found 
him,  he  was  pale  as  marble,  and  looked  like  one 
who  had  been  in  a  state  of  perfect  bewilderment. 
On  leaving  us,  instead  of  going  down  stream,  as 
he  should  have  done,  he  had  gone  directly  up. 
After  awhile  he  came  out  on  the  bank  of  a 
strange  river.  As  it  was  on  the  wrong  side  of 
him  to  be  the  one  we  had  floated  down,  he 
thought  he  must  have  crossed  over  to  another 
stream,  but  finally  concluded  it  would  be  the 
safest  course  to  retrace  his  steps.  This  he  was 
doing  to  the  best  of  his  ability  when  he  heard 
our  rifle  shots.  We  scolded  him  for  his  stupidity 
in  thus  causing  us  alarm  and  delay,  which  he 
11* 


126  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

Yery  coolly  remarked  was  neither  very  just  nor 
sensible,  and  then  trudged  on. 

Towards  night,  B- — -n  and  myself  arrived 
with  Mitchell  at  his  hut,  where  we  found  his 
aged  Indian  father  and  young  sister  waiting  his 
return.  "  Old  Peter,"  as  he  is  called,  had  come, 
with  his  daughter,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in 
a  bark  canoe,  to  visit  him.  The  old  man,  now 
over  eighty  years  of  age,  shook  with  palsy,  and 
was  constantly  muttering  to  himself  in  a  lan- 
guage half-French  half-Indian,  while  his  daugh- 
ter, scarce  twenty  years  old,  was  silent  as  a 
statue.  She  was  quite  pretty,  and  her  long  hair, 
which  fell  over  her  shoulders,  was  not  straight, 
like  that  of  her  race,  but  hung  in  wavy  masses 
around  her  bronzed  visage.  She  would  speak  to 
none,  not  even  to  answer  a  question,  except  to 
her  father  and  brother.  I  tried  in  vain  to  make 
her  say  No  or  Yes.  She  would  invariably  turn  to 
her  father,  and  he  would  answer  for  her.  This 
old  man  still  roams  the  forest,  and  stays  where 
night  overtakes  him.  It  was  sad  to  look  upon  his 
once-powerful  frame,  now  bowed  and  tottering, 
while  his  thick  gray  hair  hung  like  a  huge  mat 


AN  OLD  INDIAN  AND  HIS  DAUGHTEE.         12T 

around  his  -crinkled  and  seamed  visage.  His 
tremulous  hand  and  faded  eye  could  no  longer 
send  the  unerring  rifle  ball  to  its  mark,  and  he 
was  compelled  to  rely  on  a  rusty  fowling-piece. 
Everything  about  him  was  in  keeping.  Even  his 
dog  was  a  mixture  of  the  wolf  and  dog,  and  was 
the  quickest  creature  I  ever  saw  move.  Poor 
old  man,  he  will  scarcely  stand  another  winter,  I 
fear — and  some  lonely  night,  in  the  lonely  forest, 
that  dark-skinned  maiden  will  see  him  die,  far 
from  human  habitations ;  and  her  feeble  arm  will 
carry  his  corpse  many  a  weary  mile,  to  rest 
among  his  friends.  As  I  have  seen  her  decked 
out  with  water-lilies,  paddling  that  old  man  over 
the  lake,  I  have  sighed  over  her  fate.  She  seems 
wrapped  up  in  her  father,  and  to  have  but  one 
thought,  one  purpose  of  life — the  guarding  and 
nursing  of  her  feeble  parent.  The  night  that 
sees  her  sitting  alone  by  the  camp-fire  beside  her 
dead  parent  will  witness  a  grief  as  intense  and 
desolate  as  ever  visited  a  more  cultivated  bosom. 
God  help  her  in  that  dark  hour.  I  can  conceive 
of  no  sadder  sight  than  that  forsaken  maiden,  in 
some  tempestuous  night,  sitting  all  alone  in  the 


128  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

heart  of  the  boundless  forest,  holding  the  dead 
or  dying  head  of  her  father,  while  the  moaning 
■winds  sing  his  dirge,  and  the  flickering  fire  sheds 
a  ghastly  light  on  the  scene.  Sorrow  in  the 
midst  of  a  wilderness  seems  doubly  desolate. 

How  strong  is  habit.  That  old  man  cannot  be 
persuaded  to  sit  down  in  peace  beneath  a  quiet 
roof,  ministered  to  and  cherished  as  his  wants 
require,  but  still  clings  to  his  wandering  life,  and 
endures  hunger,  cold  and  fatigue,  and  wanders 
houseless  and  homeless.  He  still  hunts,  though 
his  shot  seldom  strikes  down  a  deer ;  and  he  still 
treads  the  forest,  though  his  trembling  limbs  but 
half  fulfil  their  office,  and  his  aged  shoulders 
groan  under  the  burden  of  his  light  canoe.  I 
saw  him  looking  at  a  handful  of  specimens  of 
birch  bark  he  had  collected,  and  was  balancing 
which  to  choose  as  material  for  a  new  boat.  He 
still  looks  forward  to  years  of  hunting  and  days 
of  toil,  when  the  barque  of  life  is  already  touch- 
ing those  dark  waters  that  roll  away  from  this 
world  and  all  that  it  contains. 

After  spending  a  night  with  Mitchell,  we  bade 
him    good-by,   and    started    for    the    Adirondac 


MITCHELL.  129 

Mountains,  where  it  was  necessary  to  have  an- 
other guide.  He  rowed  us  across  the  lake,  and 
accompanied  us  several  miles  on  our  way,  as  if 
loth  to  leave  us.  I  gave  him  a  canister  of  pow- 
der, a  pocket  compass,  and  a  small  spy-glass,  to 
keep  as  mementos  of  me,  and  shook  his  honest 
hand  with  as  much  regret  as  I  ever  did  that  of  a 
white  man.  I  shall  long  remember  him.  He  is  a 
man  of  deeds  and  not  of  words — kind,  gentle, 
delicate  in  his  feelings,  honest  and  true  as  steel. 
I  would  start  on  a  journey  of  a  thousand  miles 
in  the  woods  with  him  alone,  without  the  slight- 
est anxiety,  although  I  was  burdened  down  with 
money.  I  never  lay  down  beside  a  trustier  heart 
than  his,  and  never  slept  sounder  than  I  have 
with  one  arm  thrown  across  his  brawny  chest. 

We  had  started  in  the  morning  for  a  clearing 
between  twenty  and  thirty  miles  distant,  but  after 
we  had  performed  fourteen  miles  of  it,  and  found 
ourselves  beneath  the  roof  of  a  comfortable  log- 
house,  we  concluded  to  stay  over  night.  The 
next  morning,  bright  and  early,  we  resumed  our 
march,  and  at  noon  reached  this  solitary  clear- 
ing which  overlooks  the  whole  wild,  gigantic  and 


130     LETTERS  FEOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

broken  mass  of  the  Adirondac  Mountains.  Far 
over  all  towered  away  the  lordly  peak  of  Tahawas, 
nick-named  Mount  Marcy.  Its  cone-shaped  sum- 
mit arose  out  of  a  perfect  sea  of  mountains,  and 
as  I  gazed  on  it  I  half  regretted  my  determina- 
tion to  ascend  it.  I  never  looked  on  an  Alpine 
height  with  such  misgivings.  It  was,  however, 
more  than  twenty  miles  distant,  and  a  nearer 
view  might  diminish  the  difficulties  that  from  this 
point  seemed  insurmountable.  Four  miles  more 
through  the  woods  brought  us  to  Lake  Sandford, 
where  we  found  the  hunter  Cheney,  who  took  us 
in  his  boat  five  miles  further  on,  to  the  Adirondac 
Iron  Works.  These  iron  works  are  twenty-five 
miles  from  any  public  road,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  forest.  Mr.  Henderson,  of  Jersey  City,  first 
visited  them.  He  was  told  by  an  Indian  of  their 
existence,  and  gave  him  two  hundred  dollars  to 
be  conducted  to  them.  The  mountains  around 
are  solid  ore,  of  a  very  good  quality;  but  the 
carting  of  provisions  in,  and  the  iron  out,  eats  up 
all  the  profits ;  so  that  though  two  or  three  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  have  been  expended  on  the 
workSj  not  one  dollar  has  been  made.     It  is  a 


ADIRONDAC  IKON  WORKS.  131 

lonely  place,  and  the  smoke  of  a  furnace,  and 
tlie  clink  of  the  hammer,  are  strange  sights  and 
sounds  there. 

But  of  these,  more  anon. 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDSo  133 


LETTER  XIII 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS. 


How  true  it  is  that  ^^  half  the  world  does  not 

know  how   the   other  half  lives/'     Sixty  miles 

from  New  York  exists  a  different  race  of  people^ 

who  never  see   a  city  paper,  and  only  know  of 

what  is  going  on  in  this  great  Babel  from  those 

who  visit  them  or  those  who  take  their  game  to 

market.     There  is  a  large  population  living   on 

and  about  the  barren  Fire  Islands  whose  whole 

means  of  livelihood  is  the  game  they  kill.     These 

men  do  not  hunt  for  sport,  but  as  a  business ;  and 

the  amount  of  wild  fowl  annually  slaughtered  on 

the  southern  shore  of  Long  Island,  for  the  New 

York  market,  is  enormous.     A  descendant  of  an 

old  family  here,  which  has  owned  a  large  territory 

on  the  south  shore  ever  since  New  York  was  a 
10 


134     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

colony  of  England,  told  me  that  two  families, 
generation  after  generation,  have  had  the  lease 
of  two  islands  of  barren  rocks,  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose of  killing  the  wild  fowl  that  frequent  them. 
The  J  allow  no  others  to  hunt  about  them.  These 
hunters  pay  no  attention  to  the  railroad,  and 
make  no  use  of  it  for  the  transportation  of  their 
game  to  market.  They  keep  a  wagon  going  con- 
stantly to  and  from  New  York,  as  they  did  years 
ago.  When  winter  sets  in,  and  game  becomes 
scarce,  many  of  them  go  south,  in  a  sloop  of 
their  own,  or  hire  a  passage  in  some  vessel,  and 
shoot  on  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  about  Charleston 
and  Mobile,  supplying  the  southern  market  with 
game. 

But,  before  speaking  further  of  this  peculiar 
class  of  people,  I  will  give  a  sort  of  diary  of  my 
visit.  We  were  on  a  visit  to  a  friend  on  the  south 
shore,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  drove  up  to  the 
century-old  edifice,  that  stood  facing  the  ocean 
with  its  time-worn  front.  This  old  family  man- 
sion is  the  relic  of  another  one  which  stood  here 
when  New  York  was  a  colony,  and  the  owner  of 
it  governor  under  England.    It  is  overgrown  with 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  135 

vines,  and  standing  as  it  does  in  full  sigbt  of  the 
sea,  presents  a  most  venerable  appearance. 

After  dinner,  we  rode  over  to  the  old  Indian 
tavern,  "  Connetiquoit"  (I  think  that  is  the 
right  spelling),  where  gentlemen  from  New  York 
stop  in  their  hunting  expeditions  in  this  region. 
Two  deer  had  been  killed  during  the  day,  and 
one  of  them  lay  stark  and  stiff  before  the  door  as 
we  drove  up.  Poor  fellow  !  the  fleet  limbs  that 
were  winged  with  speed  in  the  morning,  would 
never  bound  through  the  forest  again. 

The  rain  beginning  to  descend  in  torrents, 
we  turned  our  horses'  heads  homewards,  and 
there,  by  a  blazing  wood  fire,  such  as  you  find 
in  the  new  settlements  alone,  composed  ourselves 
for  the  evening.  It  was  Saturday  night,  and  a 
gloomy  night  it  was.  The  heavens  were  black  as 
Erebus,  while  a  strong  southeast  wind  came  from 
its  long  track  on  the  Atlantic,  and  howled  with 
an  ominous  sound  around  the  old  dwelling  in 
which  we  were  seated.  I  rose  and  went  to  the 
door,  and  looked  out  upon  the  sea.  No  other 
building  was  in  sight,  and  the  solitude  of  the 
scene  was  heightened  by  the  murky  heavens,  the 


136     LETTEKS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS, 

moaning  blast,  and  the.  deep  prophetic  voice  of 
the  surge  as  it  rolled  heavily  on  the  shore.  The 
music  of  the  sea  always  finds  an  answering  chord 
in  the  human  heart,  especially  heard  at  night 
when  the  gathering  storm  is  sounding  its  trumpet 
and  summoning  the  reluctant  waves  to  the  coming 
conflict.  There  is  a  sullen  threatening  sound  in 
the  roar  of  the  ocean  heard  at  such  a  time,  which 
fills  the  heart  with  gloomy  forebodings,  and  brings 
before  the  vision  the  proud  barque,  reeling  to  and 
fro  in  the  tempest,  with  her  masts  bent  and  bowed, 
and  her  rent  sails  streaming  to  the  blast,  and  the 
form  of  the  sailor  clinging  to  the  parting  shrouds, 
and  all  the  tumult  and  terror  of  a  shipwreck.  As 
I  stood  listening  to  the  Atlantic  speaking  to  the 
shore  that  hurled  back  its  blow,  the  flame  of  a 
lighthouse  five  miles  distant,  on  one  of  the  Fire 
Islands,  suddenly  flashed  up  in  the  surrounding 
darkness.  Round  and  round  in  its  circle  it  slowly 
swept,  now  lost  in  the  surrounding  gloom,  as  it 
looked  away  from  me  towards  the  vexed  Atlantic, 
and  now  blazing  landward  through  the  driving 
rain.  That  lantern  had  almost  a  human  look  as 
it  slowly  revolved  on  its  axis.     It  seemed  keeping 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  137 

watch  and  ward  over  sea  and  land — now  casting 
its  flaming  eje  over  the  deep  to  see  what  vessels 
were  tossing  there,  and  now  looking  down  on  the 
bay  and  land  to  see  how  it  fared  with  them  in 
the  stormy  night.  I  love  a  lighthouse,  with  its 
constant  guard  over  human  welfare.  After  a  long 
voyage  at  sea,  baffled  by  calms  and  frightened  by 
storms,  when  I  have  caught  the  friendly  flame  of 
the  lighthouse  welcoming  me  back  to  the  green 
earth — the  first  to  meet  me  and  to  greet  me — I 
have  felt  an  affection  for  it  as  if  it  were  a  living 
thing.  That  steady  watch-fire  burning  over  the 
deep,  through  the  long  tempestuous  night,  for  the 
sake  of  the  anxious  mariner,  is  not  a  bad  emblem 
of  the  watch  and  care  of  the  Deity  over  his  crea- 
tures, tossed  and  benighted  on  the  sea  of  life. 

How  long  I  gazed  on  that  revolving  light  I 
know  not,  but  it  was  the  last  thing  my  eye  fell 
on  as  I  turned  to  my  couch,  and  I  thought,  as  I 
left  it  blazing  through  the  tempest,  that  it 

" looked  lovely  as  Hope, 


That  star  on  life's  tremulous  ocean." 

I  slept  this  first  night  in  the  "  haunted  room/' 

12* 


138     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

I  like  so  mysterious  a  cognomen  to  rooms  and 
staircases  in  old  castles  and  dilapidated  buildings: 
it  is  in  harmony  with  the  place.  A  fine,  elegant 
mansion  here  on  the  ocean  shore  would  not  have 
possessed  half  the  interest  this  old  time-worn 
building  did.  This  "haunted  room"  derived  its 
sobriquet  from  a  sound  frequently  heard  by  those 
who  slept  in  it,  as  if  carriage  wheels  were  rolling 
up  to  the  door.  This  sound  had  often  waked  up 
the  owner  of  the  mansion,  and  roused  him  to  look 
out  and  see  what  visitors  were  coming  at  so  late 
an  hour  of  the  night.  The  frequent  recurrence  of 
this  rattling  of  wheels  had  ceased  to  be  an  object 
of  remark,  and  was  attributed  by  the  family  to 
rats  or  some  other  similar  cause. 

But  not  long  since,  a  young  lady  visiting  the 
family  was  placed  in  this  room  without  any 
mention  being  made  of  the  mysterious  sounds 
sometimes  heard  in  it.  She  had  expected  friends 
during  the  day,  who  had  not  come,  and  conse- 
quently their  arrival  was  not  anticipated  till  the 
following  day.  But  at  midnight  ('Hhe  witching 
hour"  when  ghosts  awake  and  fairies  walk  their 
nightly  rounds)  she  was  roused  from  her  slumbers 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  139 

bj  tlie  rapid  roll  of  carriage  wheels  over  the  hard 
ground.  Supposing  her  friends  had  come,  she 
jumped  from  bed  and  hastened  to  the  window. 
The  bright  round  moon  was  shining  down,  making 
the  woods  and  fields  around  almost  as  light  as 
day.  She  looked  up  the  road,  but  no  carriage 
was  in  sight,  and  naught  but  the  still  moonlight 
sleeping  over  the  scene  met  her  gaze.  She  turned 
back  astonished,  when  the  rattling  of  wheels  again 
shook  the  room.  Supposing  now  that  the  carriage 
had  gone  round  to  the  back  door,  she  ran  through 
the  hall  and  raised  the  window  to  greet  her 
friends,  but  naught  but  the  quiet  moonlight  was 
there  also.  She  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed^ 
and  hastened  back  to  her  room,  when  the  rapid 
roll  of  wheels  again  met  her  ear.  This  crowned 
the  mystery,  and  she  gave  a  shriek  and  went 
into  hysteric  fits.  Since  then,  it  has  been  called 
"the  haunted  room." 

I  slept  none  the  less  soundly  for  these  stories, 
not  being  given  to  superstitious  fears.  I  am  more 
afraid  of  man  than  I  am  of  his  ghost,  and  of  Ms 
spirit  than  of  all  the  other  spirits  and  mysterious 
forms  of  air  that  walk  the  earth  or  sea.     Besides, 


140     LETTEUS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

I  should  not  have  got  up  had  a  dozen  carriages 
arrived ;  for  if  the  fairies  or  more  sullen  ghosts 
choose  to  take  a  drive  such  a  wild  and  stormy 
night  as  that,  they  were  welcome  to  their  taste. 
I  had  certainly  no  objection  to  their  taking  their 
own  mode  of  amusing  themselves,  provided  they 
kept  out  of  doors. 

But  it  is  strange  how  strong  the  superstitious 
feeling  is  in  man.  Some  of  the  best  and  strong- 
est-minded men  I  have  ever  known  have  been 
subject  to  fears  that  a  child  should  be  ashamed 
of.  To  see  the  moon  over  the  left  shoulder  will 
bring  bad  luck,  and  a  journey  commenced  on 
Friday  will  end  unfortunately.  So  do  men,  sen- 
sible men,  talk.  A  few  rats  between  the  walls, 
or  confined  air  creeping  through  some  aperture 
in  the  building,  will  drive  a  lady  into  convulsions. 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  141 


LETTER  XIY. 


THE  FIRE   ISLANDS. 


It  was  Sabbath  morning,  when  I  arose  and 
threw  open  the  shutters.  The  mist-covered  ocean 
lay  like  a  sleeping  giant  before  me,  stretching  his 
arms  up  into  the  land,  and  the  drizzling  rain  came 
down  without  a  sound.  Out  by  the  barn,  a  negro 
was  feeding  a  flock  of  black  turkeys,  while  three 
or  four  goats  had  mounted  an  old  wagon,  trying, 
apparently,  to  imagine  it  was  a  rock.  The  poor 
creatures,  having  nothing  else  to  climb,  and  un- 
able to  restrain  their  propensities,  mount  the 
fences,  wagons,  or  anything  that  looks  like  an 
eminence. 

After  breakfast,  we  packed  ourselves  into  a 
close-covered  Rockaway,  and  started  for  the 
church,  some  five  miles  off.     It  was  built  at  the 


142     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

private  expense  of  the  lady  I  was  with,  and  was 
the  only  place  of  public  worship  for  miles  around. 
The  Methodists  had  preaching,  now  and  then,  in 
a  school-house  in  the  woods,  which  we  passed  on 
our  way  to  church.  The  church  to  which  we 
were  bound  is  a  little  box  of  a  thing,  capable  of 
holding  perhaps  two  hundred  people.  The  storm 
had  kept  many  at  home,  and  the  congregation  on 
this  day  amounted  to  perhaps  sixty  or  seventy. 
The  sermon  was  a  mere  expansion  of  the  story  of 
the  woman  who  was  cured  of  an  issue  of  blood. 
The  preacher  was  a  young  man  of  ordinary  intel- 
lect. He  was  also  somewhat  embarrassed,  which 
spoiled  the  delivery  of  the  sermon.  The  simple 
narrative  of  the  New  Testament  he  took  for  an 
outline  sketch,  which  he  filled  up  to  suit  his 
imagination. 

But  there  was  something  primitive  about  this 
place  of  worship  that  interested  me;  and  as  I 
came  out  and  looked  on  the  faded  forest  on  one 
side,  and  the  far-receding  ocean  on  the  other, 
while  all  was  silent  and  still  around,  it  did  not 
seem  possible  that  I  was  within  a  few  hours'  ride 
of  New  York  and  its  Babel-like  confusion.     It 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  143 

seemed  like  shoving  the  western  frontier  up  to 
the  citj,  and  from  its  wild  borders  looking  down 
Broadway,  and  through  the  magnificent  churches. 
Monday  morning  was  cold  and  blustering.  A 
chill  west  wind  swept  the  ocean,  and  raged  around 
the  dwelling,  till  every  shingle  and  clapboard 
seemed  drumming  against  the  timbers  to  keep 
its  fingers  warm.  The  fragmentary  clouds  went 
trooping  fiercely  over  the  intensely  bright  sky; 
the  sea  was  covered  with  foam,  and  the  deep 
voice  of  the  waves  came  riding  inland  on  the 
blast;  while  a  schooner,  dragging  its  anchor^ 
drove  rapidly  along  the  shore,  its  naked  masts 
reeling  to  and  fro  in  the  gale,  around  which  the 
sea-gulls  swept  in  rapid  circles.  Our  friend  said 
that  some  hunters  were  to  drive  deer  that  day, 
and  he  wished  us  to  see  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  done.  The  cold,  fierce  blast  did  not  give 
as  a  very  cheerful  welcome  out  of  doors,  but  we 
bundled  up  and  started.  The  call  of  the  master 
brought  the  hounds  in  full  chase  after  us,  and 
we  rode  over  to  the  hunters'  rendezvous,  and 
were  soon  in  the  woods.  The  common  way  of 
hunting   the    deer    on   Long    Island  is    to    start 


144     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

several  packs  of  hounds  in  different  directions, 
and  then  station  men  along  a  stream  near,  in 
places  where  the  deer  are  found  by  experience 
generally  to  come  when  they  take  to  the  water 
to  throw  the  dogs  off  the  scent.  I  was  placed  in 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  on  a  good  point  of  obser- 
vation, beside  the  stream  whose  current  swept  the 
shrubs  and  flags  that  almost  buried  it  from  sight. 
Standing  on  a  board  to  keep  my  feet  dry,  I  turned 
to  the  sun  to  get  the  full  benefit  of  his  beams,  for 
I  was  well-nigh  frozen.  Here  I  stood,  hour  after 
hour,  with  naught  but  the  roaring  of  the  blast 
through  the  pine-trees  overhead  to  break  the  soli- 
tude of  the  scene.  Scathed  and  blighted  trunks 
threw  out  their  long  withered  arms,  and  swayed 
them  about  as  if  reaching  blindly  after  something 
in  the  air,  and  groaned  on  their  aged  roots;  while 
the  tufted  tips  of  the  pine  and  hemlock  bowed 
and  sprung  as  if  curtseying  to  the  wind.  The 
deep  cry  of  the  hounds,  as  they  opened  on  the 
track,  had  soon  died  away  on  the  blast,  and  I 
had  nothing  to  do  but  stand  and  watch  the  fo- 
rest as  the  swaying  tree-tops  traced  all  kinds  of 
diagrams  on  the  sky.     Suddenly,  one  tall  pine- 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  145 

tree  seemed  to  swing  to  a  passing  gust  as  if  its 
foundations  were  yielding ;  then,  sallying  back  as 
if  to  collect  its  energies  for  the  terrible  leap 
before  it,  it  stretched  heavily  forward,  and  came, 
with  a  crash  that  shook  the  banks,  to  the  ground. 
The  fall  of  a  lordly  but  blighted  tree,  all  alone  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  is  one  of  the  most  lonely 
things  in  nature.  As  if  it  were  not  enough  that 
its  green  crown  should  wither  among  its  fellows, 
and  its  glory  depart,  it  must  stoop  from  its  proud, 
erect  position,  and  lie  prone  on  the  earth.  Its 
great  heart  is  at  last  broken,  and  it  buries  its 
mighty  forehead  in  the  earth.  A  falling  tree 
seems  always  a  conscious  being  to  me.  With 
these  thoughts,  however,  was  mingled  a  little 
personal  concern  for  myself,  and  I  began  to 
measure  rather  anxiously  the  distance  between 
me  and  several  old  trees  that  the  wind  seemed 
determined  to  rock  out  of  their  places.  I  calcu- 
lated with  the  nicest  precision  the  exact  length  of 
several  that  bowed  towards  me,  in  a  salutation 
I  could  have  dispensed  with,  and  the  direction 
others  would  probably  take.  ISlo  more  fell,  how- 
ever, and  at  one  o'clock  I  turned  my  steps  out  of 


146     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

the  forest.  I  had  seen  and  heard  nothing  during 
the  day  but  the  shaking  trees  and  the  fierce  blast. 
Arrived  at  the  place  of  rendezvous^  no  one  had 
seen  a  deer;  but  on  one  of  the  stands  two  suc- 
cessive shots  had  been  heard,  and  the  gentleman 
placed  there  had  not  come  in.  He  soon  ap- 
peared, however,  but  bringing  nothing  with  him. 
He  was  a  gentleman  of  rank  in  Europe,  and  was 
equal  to  business  plans  that  embraced  a  conti- 
nent; but  a  deer  could  unnerve  him.  He  had 
never  seen  one  of  these  noble  animals,  in  all  its 
wildness  and  beauty,  face  to  face,  until  this  day. 
Sitting  on  the  bank,  a  beautiful  doe  had  entered 
the  stream  before  him  without  seeing  him,  and 
there,  at  the  distance  of  five  rods,  stood  for  five 
minutes,  looking  with  its  wild  yet  gentle  eyes 
towards  his  place  of  ambush.  With  a  double- 
barreled  gun,  loaded  with  forty  buck  shot,  he 
fired  at  her.  With  a  sudden  bound  she  cleared 
the  bank,  and  sped  unharmed  away. 

The  effect  of  a  noble  deer,  on  one  who  has 
never  seen  one  in  the  forest,  is  most  singular. 
The  gentleman  with  whom  I  stopped  told  some 
anecdotes  of  New  Yorkers,  that  were  almost  in- 


THE  FIEE  ISLANDS.  147 

credible.  A  fine  deer  throwing  his  proud  antlers 
through  the  forest,  as  he  outstrips  the  wind  in 
his  flight,  is  a  beautiful  sight.  To  kill  one,  as  he 
thus  springs  away  in  all  the  pride  of  freedom, 
seems  downright  cruelty;  and  one's  heart  always 
relents  when  the  deed  is  done,  unless  long  prac- 
tice has  rendered  him  accustomed  to  it.  But  the 
hunter  laughs  at  such  sentiment,  and  can  see  no 
difference  between  killing  a  deer  and  a  lamb. 

A  gentleman  who  had  never  seen  a  deer  in  his 
native  forest,  told  me  that,  being  stationed  in  a 
place  with  his  gun  where  one  was  expected  to 
pass,  he  saw  him  approach  and  retire  without 
molestation.  He  heard  a  crashing  through  the 
under-brush,  and  the  next  moment  a  noble  buck 
bounded  past  him,  with  all  that  beauty  and 
strength  for  which  the  deer  is  remarkable.  He 
gazed  on  him  as  he  rose  and  fell  in  his  long 
bounds  through  the  forest,  in  such  perfect  ad- 
miration, that  he  forgot  he  had  a  gun.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that  such  a  noble  animal  was  to 
be  shot,  until  he  was  out  of  his  reach.  "Why," 
said  he,  ''I  could  riot  have  killed  him  if  my  life 
had  depended  on  it." 


148     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

The  instinct  with  which  God  has  endowed  the 
deer  for  self-preservation  seems  sometimes  like 
the  cunning  and  reason  of  man.  A  gentleman, 
an  old  hunter,  told  me  that  not  long  since  he 
chased  a  doe  all  day  through  these  woods  without 
success,  and  was  perfectly  astonished  at  the  cun- 
ning she  exhibited  in  baffling  her  pursuers.  The 
hounds  aroused  her  early  in  the  morning,  when 
she  bounded  away,  leaving  them  far  behind. 
After  running  an  hour  or  so  she  laid  down  to 
rest  till  the  dogs,  followed  close  by  the  hunter, 
on  a  full  gallop  through  the  woods,  came  up, 
when  she  again  started  off.  She  managed  in  this 
way  till  noon,  and  then  adopted  a  different  ex- 
pedient. Coming  to  a  public  road,  she  walked  up 
and  down  it  in  the  same  track  several  times,  and 
then  sprang  with  a  long  leap  into  the  forest. 
The  dogs,  when  they  arrived,  ran  up  and  down 
the  road,  making  the  forest  ring  with  their  deep 
bay,  perfectly  baffled.  But  when  the  hunter 
came  up,  knowing  the  cunning  of  the  animal,  he 
began  to  beat  about  the  bushes,  and  soon  set  the 
hounds  on  the  track.  Following  close  after,  he  at 
length  got  sight  of  her  galloping  slowly  through 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  149 

an  open  field,  apparently  not  in  the  least  fright- 
ened, keeping  her  enemies  at  a  safe  distance 
behind  her  as  she  stretched  over  the  plain.  Still 
unable  to  throw  them  from  the  track,  she  dashed 
into  a  flock  of  sheep,  and  began  to  chase  them 
over  the  field.  Scattering  them  hither  and  thither 
in  confusion,  she  soon  got  the  dogs  pursuing  them, 
and  then  boldly  pushed  again  for  the  forest.  But 
the  hunter  being  at  hand  to  assist  the  dogs,  they 
were  soon  again  in  hot  pursuit.  As  the  last 
resort,  after  doubling  a  while  through  the  woods, 
she  dashed  towards  the  ocean,  and  following  an 
inlet  along  its  margin  at  low-water  mark  (it  Was 
low  tide),  swam  boldly  out  into  the  bay,  and, 
taking  a  long  semicircle,  landed  on  a  distant 
point,  and  sought  for  the  last  time  the  shelter  of 
the  forest.  When  the  hounds  came  up,  the  rising 
tide  had  obliterated  nearly  all  the  tracks,  and,  it 
being  now  dusk,  the  chase  was  given  up,  and  the 
noble  deer  that  had  struggled  so  bravely  for  life 
was  saved.  It  would  have  been  downright  cruelty 
to  have  slain  her  after  such  an  effort  to  live.  It 
would  have  seemed  like  slaying  a  rational  being. 
What  a  world  this  is!— one  half  pursuers,  the 
13* 


150  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

other  half  pursued :  half  straining  every  nerve  to 
save  life,  the  other  half  equally  intent  on  destroy- 
ing it.  Thus  instinct  battles  instinct,  and  passion 
passion,  and  has  done  since  the  fall  cursed  the 
earth. 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  151 


LETTER    XT, 


THE  FIEE  ISLANDS. 


I  WILL  trouble  jou  witli  only  this  letter  from 
the  Fire  Islands.  The  morning  after  our  un- 
successful deer  expedition,  the  huntsmen  started 
out  again.  It  was  an  Indian  summer  day  in  ap- 
pearance and  temperature.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
shook  the  withered  leaves  that  drooped  from  the 
branches,  while  the  smoky  atmosphere  drew  a  veil 
over  the  sky  and  earth,  giving  a  soft  and  dreamy 
aspect  to  nature.  It  was  one  of  those  days  when 
sound  is  transmitted  to  a  great  distance,  and  the 
whole  concave  seems  a  great  whispering  gallery, 
save  that  while  it  transmits  it  also  dulls  every 
sound.  Again  I  stood  in  the  depths  of  the  forest 
beside  the  stream ;  but  how  changed  had  every- 
thing become.     There  was   no   motion,  no   wild 


152  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  distracted  brandies, 
no  struggle  of  the  old  trees  to  keep  their  ancient 
foundations.  The  stream  slipped  by  with  a  gentle 
murmurj  kissing  the  flags  that  stooped  over  it, 
while  even  the  light  tread  of  the  "chick-a-dee- 
dee"  could  be  heard  on  the  dry  leaves.  Not  a 
cloud  was  on  the  sky,  while  the  sun  looked  drow- 
sily down  through  the  murky  atmosphere,  and  all 
was  silent,  as  a  great  forest  without  wind  always 
is,  for 

"The  streams  were  staid  and  the  maples  still/^ 

It  was  a  fine  morning  for  the  huntsman,  who  de- 
lights above  all  things  in  the  cry  of  the  hounds 
as  they  open  on  the  track.  As  the  forest  this 
morning  rang  and  echoed  with  their  deep  baying 
as  they  struck  the  fresh  track,  I  did  not  wonder 
at  the  excitement  often  witnessed  in  the  chase, 
and  involuntarily  there  came  to  my  mind  the 
opening  lines  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake : — 

The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Morna's  rill, 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade  ; 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  153 

But  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 

The  deep-mouthed  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way  ; 

And  faint  from  farther  distance  borne 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

Several  deer  were  driven  this  morning,  but 
none  killed,  as  most  of  the  hunters  were  gentle- 
men from  New  York,  to  whom  the  sight  of  a  deer 
was  a  new  object,  and  what  the  hunters  call  the 
"buck  fever"  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  with 
them.  The  exhibitions  they  frequently  make  is 
very  ludicrous.  It  was  here  Mr.  Delmonico,  of 
the  famous  eating-house  of  New  York,  was  found 
dead.  A  shot  was  heard  during  the  day  on  the 
stand  which  he  occupied,  and  after  the  hunters 
had  all  come  in  he  was  missing.  On  going  to 
the  spot,  he  was  found  fallen  with  his  face  in  the 
water.  His  gun,  partly  reloaded,  lay  beside  him. 
He  had  evidently  seen  a  deer  and  fired  at  him 
and  missed.  The  excitement  had  brought  on  an 
epileptic  fit,  and  before  he  had  finished  re-charg- 
ing his  gun  he  had  fallen.     Having  pitched  for- 


154  LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

ward  into  the  water,  lie  was  drowned  before  lie 
could  recover  from  the  fit. 

A  Frenchman  from  the  city,  standing  here  one 
day,  saw  a  large  buck  come  leaping  down  the 
stream,  tossing  his  huge  antlers  in  the  air.  With- 
out firing,  he  threw  down  his  gun  and  gave  chase, 
thinking  in  his  simplicity  that  the  deer  could  n.ot 
possibly  get  through  the  tangled  woods  with  his 
branching  horns,  and  he  could  take  him  alive. 

As  I  stood  beside  the  stream,  from  the  distant 
sea  came  the  constant  dull  report  of  firearms. 
It  was  an  excellent  day  for  duck  shooting  on  the 
water,  and  up  and  down  the  shore,  for  eight  or 
ten  miles,  it  was  an  incessant  explosion  of  fire- 
arms. Those  who  supply  the  New  York  market 
with  ducks  have  a  curious  way  of  taking  them. 
A  box  just  large  enough  to  contain  and  float  a 
man  as  he  lies  on  his  back  is  pushed  four  or  five 
miles  out  to  sea  in  some  bay,  supported  by  two 
flat  boards  that  spread  out  like  wings  on  either 
side,  to  break  the  waves  that  would  otherwise 
dash  over  it.  Anchoring  this  in  some  convenient 
spot,  they  lie  down,  and  throwing  out  their  decoy 
duck  (made   of  wood),  attract  every  flock  that 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  155 

passes  by  to  the  spot.  As  they  wheel  around 
and  stoop  to  the  water,  the  unseen  hunter  fires 
his  huge  double-barreled  gun  into  their  midst. 
In  a  good  day,  he  frequently  kills  a  hundred 
birds. 

At  length  I  strolled  away  by  myself,  intending 
to  take  a  long  semicircle  through  the  forest  and 
strike  the  ocean  some  four  or  five  miles  distant. 
It  was  one  of  those  days  in  which  I  love  to 
wander  alone  "by^  stream  or  wave"  or  through 
the  sombre  autumn  woods,  and  let  the  poetry,  the 
thoughtfulness,  and  even  the  sadness  of  nature 
sink  into  my  spirit.  Sometimes  I  would  be  ankle 
deep  in  the  withered  leaves  as  I  strolled  on,  I 
scarcely  knew  or  cared  whither.  Coming  at 
length  to  an  arm  of  the  sea  that  stretched  far 
inland,  I  followed  it  down  for  a  mile  or  two  to 
the  main  shore.  It  was  low  tide,  and  so,  with 
the  aid  of  tight  boots,  I  was  able  to  cross  the 
marshes  which  the  rising  sea  floods,  and  stood  at 
last  on  the  smooth  sand  beach,  along  which  I 
wandered  for  more  than  a  mile. 

Stand  here  a  moment  with  me,  and  look  off  on 
the  solemn  ocean.     [N'ot  a  breath  of  air  is  abroad, 


156     LETTERS  FROM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

and  the  mighty  waters  spread  awaj  like  an  end- 
less mirror  from  your  feet.  The  smooth  ripple 
comes  with  a  slow  and  sluggish  movement,  and 
lays  its  gentle  lip  without  a  murmur  on  the 
beach;  while  flocks  of  wild  fowl  glance  by  through 
the  hazy  atmosphere,  like  messengers  from  the 
distant  deep,  where  it  melts  and  blends  into  the 
smoky  horizon.  Not  a  human  habitation  is  in 
sight,  and,  as  you  stand  and  muse,  you  cannot 
but  think  of  that  otlier  '^  vast  ocean"  in  which 
you  are  "to  sail  so  soon." 

But  listen  a  moment!  Miles  out  on  the  slum- 
bering water,  lost  in  the  smoky  atmosphere,  comes 
the  incessant  report  of  firearms.  Scores  of  these 
"batteries"  are  anchored  there.  The  incessant 
firing  they  keep  up  seems  like  the  cannonading 
between  two  battle  ships  that  are  at  the  work  of 
death.  The  dull  and  heavy  sound  is  increased 
in  volume  on  the  sea,  and,  by  the  state  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  the  uninterrupted  bom!  bom! 
from  the  distant  mist-wrapped  ocean,  awakens 
strange  feelings  in  one  just  from  the  stir  and 
tumult  of  city  life.  There  is  not  an  interval  of 
ten  seconds  between  these  explosions.     Sometimes 


THE  FIRE  I^AXDS.  157 

there  are  several  discharges  at  once,  like  a  whole 
broadside,  and  then  a  rolling  fire  like  that  which 
goes  from  stem  to  stern  of  a  ship,  and  then  a 
straggling  shot  jarring  the  atmosphere  with  its 
report.  As  a  sort  of  interlude  to  all  this,  from 
an  unseen  island,  three  or  four  miles  distant,  rises 
a  confused  and  constant  scream  from  myriads  of 
sea  fowl  congregated  there — keeping  up  one  of 
the  wildest  concerts  I  ever  listened  to.  Eisinc' 
as  it  does  out  of  the  mist,  and,  as  it  were,  in 
response  to  the  constant  explosion  along  the  sea, 
like  the  cries  of  the  wounded  and  dying  on  a  field 
of  battle,  and  just  as  twilight  is  deepening  over 
the  water,  it  imparts  inconceivable  wildness  and 
mystery  to  the  scene.  In  the  midst  of  this  mighty 
solitude,  I  stood  absorbed  and  impressed  beyond 
measure,  and  lingered  till  the  increasing  darkness 
and  the  rising  tide  admonished  me  it  was  time  to 
return.  A  new  world  of  thought  and  emotion 
had  been  born  within  me  in  the  few  hours  I  had 
mused  on  that  solitary  shore. 

How  impressive  nature  is  in  all  her  aspects! 
Whether  she  looks  in  one's  face  from  the  smiling 
landscape  of  a  New  England  valley,  or  humbles 
14 


158  LETTERS  FR05l  THE  BACKWOODS. 

one  amid  the  glaciers  and  snow-fields  and  shud- 
dering abysses  of  iVlpine  solitudes,  or  saddens  the 
heart  with  the  murmur  of  waves  and  broad  ex- 
panse of  the  mysterious  sea,  she  presents  the 
same  attractions  and  has  the  same  chastening 
effect.  I  never  shall  forget  that  afternoon  stroll 
by  the  ocean  around  the  Fire  Islands. 

The  next  morning,  ^Ye  were  to  leave  for  the 
city.  The  sky  was  overcast  as  I  rose  and  looked 
out  on  the  ocean.  It  seemed  preparing  for  one 
of  those  warm,  quiet,  drizzling  rains.  The  atmo- 
sphere in  such  a  state  always  has  great  refracting 
power  from  the  moisture  it  contaios,  and  I  was 
struck  with  the  appearance  of  buildings  on  the 
Fire  Islands.  Usually,  they  seemed  (as  they 
really  did)  to  stand  up  some  of  them  several  feet 
from  the  shore,  but  now  I  could  see  distinctly  the 
shining  surface  of  the  water  beyond  their  founda- 
tions. Where  the  island  was  low,  it  appeared 
now  to  be  cut  in  two,  and  the  bright  water  passed 
entirely  through  to  the  ocean  beyond.  The  light- 
house, which  was  elevated  on  a  rock,  now  sat  i)i 
the  sea,  if  there  was  any  reliance  to  be  placed 
in  one's  eyes.     Through  a  powerful  spy-glass  I 


THE  FIRE  ISLANDS.  159 

could  distinguish  the  water  on  three  sides  of  it  as 
distinctly  as  I  could  see  the  lighthouse  itself,  and, 
had  I  not  been  informed  otherwise,  should  have 
had  no  doubt  the  building  stood  in  the  vfater,  and 
that  the  island  here  and  there  was  really  divided. 
This  deception  was  owing  to  the  refracting  power 
of  the  atmosphere.  The  rays  of  light  were  re- 
flected strongly  from  the  polished  surface  of  the 
water,  while  so  few  came  from  the  dusky  beach  as 
to  make  it  invisible  to  the  eye.  The  atmosphere 
refracting  the  rays  from  this  smooth  surface  lifted 
it  up  from  its  real  level  and  threw  it  apparently 
above  the  land.  At  least  this  is  my  explanation, 
and  it  is  rational  and  philosophical,  whether  true 
in  this  case  or  not.  The  lady  of  the  mansion 
told  me  that  she  had  frequently  seen  ships  at 
sea  directly  over  the  island,  when  no  part  of  the 
ocean  is  visible  over  it,  even  from  the  top  of  the 
house.  This  reminds  me  of  the  report  that,  in  a 
peculiar  state  of  the  atmosphere,  Lake  Ontario 
has  been  seen  from  Rochester  lying  calm  and 
distinct  against  the  distant  horizon.  At  sea,  I 
have  heard  captains  relate  having  seen  ships  that 
were  not  visible  from  deck,  mast  downwards  in 


160     LETTERS  FKOM  THE  BACKWOODS. 

the  clouds.  Mentioning  this  circumstance  to  the 
lady,  she  said  she  had  witnessed  the  same  singular 
appearance  several  times  from  her  house.  The 
explanation  of  this  phenomenon  I  will  leave  to 
some  one  else. 

It  was  with  regret  I  bid  the  hospitable,  intelli- 
gent, and  generous  inmate  of  the  mansion  adieu, 
and  turned  again  towards  the  city.  I  know  of  no 
life  more  desirable  than  that  of  a  large  landholder 
whose  residence  is  fixed  on  some  such  picturesque 
spot  as  this. 


TKE     EXD 


University  of 
Connecticut 

Libraries 


-l\ 


/    ,|! 


w  m 


